This Wretched Affection
by Vita-in-charta
Summary: After the revelation of James Moriarty's resurrection, Molly Hooper is once again ensnared by his malevolent charm. Terrified for her life, Molly is taunted and manipulated by the man she once knew. Keeping this many secrets was difficult enough, but Molly must hide the darkness in her heart, from Jim, Sherlock, and from herself. Molliarty, set after His Last Vow.
1. Chapter 1

_"When my time comes around,_

_Lay me gently in the cold dark earth._

_No grave can hold me down,_

_I'll crawl home to her."_

Molly had observed the wrath of Sherlock Holmes many times, but he had never been as terrifying as that day.

"You fools!" He roared, hands running through his hair. "This man is more dangerous than you could possibly imagine. Two years of dismantling his criminal web and it has all gone to waste!" His fist crashed into the table, knocking over a microscope and a rack of test tubes. Molly flinched. Sherlock shouted even louder, alternating his fury among the other figures in the room. John sat in a corner rubbing his forehead with his hands, Mary gripping his arm comfortingly. Detective Inspector Lestrade stood near window, staring blankly ahead of him. Molly peered at the silent man for a moment. He had been especially kind to her recently, after…_._

The face still occupied every screen in London. His mocking, self-satisfied expression staring them all down from Molly's computer, the television in the lounge, the screens in Piccadilly Circus.

She coughed quietly, holding back tears. Her hands tapped nervously on her knees. Sherlock was attacking Lestrade now.

"Scotland Yard, you have any theories?" His tone dripped sarcasm and fury. Lestrade glared at him.

"Sherlock, I haven't clue. I'm out of my depth here." Sherlock snarled to himself and closed his eyes. His hands rubbed his temples furiously.

"Maybe," Molly ventured cautiously, "It isn't really him, Jim-" She caught herself, "Moriarty. Maybe it's a distraction. He can't really be alive, can he?" She glanced at Lestrade for reassurance, but found none. Sherlock's hands stopped. He turned to her slowly.

"Molly Hooper, perhaps it would be best if you refrain from making judgments on this subject, given the fact that you were in a romantic relationship with the most dangerous criminal mind in the world without having THE SLIGHTEST IDEA." He shouted the last words, towering over her like an impending storm. "When we need to know Jim Moriarty's favorite cafés and kissing habits I will gladly consult you." Molly was stunned. Her mouth gaped open, her throat choking on her denials. She could feel the eyes of everyone on her; hear John's exasperated sigh, and blinked hot tears from her eyes. John and Sherlock argued, but Molly could not hear them. Her mind was screaming. Blood pounded in her ears. She felt a hand on her shoulder; Lestrade, trying to comfort her. She muttered a quiet apology, brushed his hand off, and staggered out of the lab.

In the hallway, she could still hear Sherlock and John's muffled shouts through the thick metal door. _Jim. James. Moriarty. _A sob escaped her and echoed down the hallway. Sherlock had disparaged the intelligence of Molly, and most other people, but not to this magnitude, not after she had given him so much. She had helped him fake his death, and then had aided in a case in John's place when he returned. Was this the thanks she got from him? Molly checked her watch. As usual, Sherlock had kept her at the morgue far later than her shift required. Wiping her eyes, Molly grabbed her keys and purse, and shuffled into the cold darkness.

* * *

><p>There were only a handful of people in the Tube station at that time of night, most of them heading home after long dinners with significant others, or tourists going back to their hotels after seeing the biggest shows in London's theatres. Molly took a seat in the corner of the carriage across from a tall, blonde man, reading a newspaper silently. Still shaken, Molly closed her eyes, leaned over her knees and took several long, deep breaths. Her heart raced in her chest. She exhaled and straightened her back. When she opened her eyes, she noticed the man across from her staring, unblinking. He quickly returned his attention to his paper. Molly blushed. She should not be so conspicuous about this on the train.<p>

She waited patiently for her stop, tapping her fingers on her bag, occasionally glancing up at the tube map to check her progress. At each stop, one person got off, trudging into the concrete stations, except the man across from Molly. Whenever the doors slid open, he would glance up at her, then back down to his paper when she remained seated. When the train finally announced the station nearest Molly's flat, she gathered her things and positioned herself next to the door. Behind her, the man folded his newspaper loudly and discarded it on his seat. He stood directly behind Molly, holding tightly to the handrail above her. She could feel his proximity keenly, and wished desperately that she could make herself disappear. When the doors slid open, she jumped onto the platform and walked quickly up the escalator. Her oyster card swiped smoothly, letting her out of the station and onto the deserted street. She stopped at the corner and looked back at the Tube entrance. He was there, leaning against the wall, his eyes locked on her, a lit cigarette glowing between his lips. Molly swallowed hard and gripped the strap of her bag tightly. She ought to call someone; a friend, the police. Molly took another deep breath. She turned swiftly down her street, silently praying to herself that he would not follow.

He did not. At the door to her flat, Molly waited, staring down the street. She stood on the steps until she was sure that the man had not pursued her, and then sighed with relief. She unlocked her door, and pushed into her small, unlit hallway. Just like normal, Molly hung her coat on a peg, dropped her keys into the small basket hanging from the wall, and slipped her shoes off. She looked down at her socks and smiled; pink, with tiny black paw prints. Switching the hall light on, she clicked her teeth softly.

"Toby, come here boy," She padded up the hall and into the living room. His favorite spot was there, beneath the window where he could lay in the sun. The light clicked on, illuminating her small living room. She cast her gaze at Toby's spot, then drifted around the room to her sofa, and the man sitting on it, staring at her with dark, cold eyes. He grinned.

"Miss me?"


	2. Chapter 2

_"And he whispered 'fear is logical',_

_And he said it's magic, wonderful.."_

Molly's heart stopped. He was here. In her flat. Jim Moriarty was sitting on her sofa, arms spread behind him, all suave leisure, like he had sat in that spot every day of his life. As if he _owned _it. The picture was vastly different from the last time he had sat there, with her. At that point, he had only been Jim, her office romance.

"You," She breathed, "You can't be here." He stood and straightened his suit jacket. Molly looked at his perfect ensemble and almost choked. Dark, charcoal grey, a red tie, slicked back hair… This was not the scruffy and casual man she had known years ago. He ambled towards her slowly, his eyes roaming her face, her body. He rubbed his chin with his hand, watching her.

"You're not happy to see me?" He pushed his lips out in a mock pout, but his eyes practically danced with amusement.

"No, I…" Her voice shook violently. "You're dead. You died the same day Sherlock-"

"Boring," He flinched and bit his lip. "So boring, Molly." Goosebumps ran up the back of her neck. She had never seen him like this. She had never really seen _him._ "Come on Molly," He took a step closer, "Can you honestly say-" Another step closer. Molly stumbled backwards until her back brushed against the wall. "-That you didn't miss me?" His hand brushed against hers.

Molly jerked her hand away. "Don't touch me." Jim raised his eyebrows and smirked. In a fraction of a second his hands gripped her wrists and twisted them painfully. Molly whimpered. He leaned closer, his face inches from hers.

He whispered in her ear, his breath warm; "You helped Sherlock, didn't you?"

Molly cringed. "No, I-" Jim twisted harder.

"This would be easier if you wouldn't lie, dearest." Molly squirmed at the pet name and fought back tears, saying nothing. Irked, Jim continued; "You know, I had a lot of fun that day. I had guns on Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, John…" He could have been reciting his grocery list. "But I didn't have one at you. Guess I should have. And then you _solved a case with him_," He shook his head and frowned. "What were you thinking?" Molly didn't answer. She glared down at the floor. "Look at me," Jim ordered, "Now." The threat in his tone was unmistakable. Reluctantly, Molly obeyed.

She had forgotten how entrancing his eyes could be; liquid brown, round, inviting. Their full power was now focused on Molly. How could she have never noticed the shadows shifting behind his friendliness and charm? He smiled, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled. Dread gripped her heart tightly.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was low and shaky. Jim shrugged. His hands relaxed around her wrists slightly.

"I missed you, Molly." He suppressed a smile and attempted to look genuinely despondent. "I came back from the dead, I thought we could have a proper chat. _Jim from IT _was so ordinary."

"Stop it." Molly shook her head. "Just stop it."

"I thought you'd be pleased," He smirked darkly. Jim's hands slid farther up her arms, holding her upright. "No need to thank me, it was my pleasure." Molly flung her arms out of his grasp and pushed him roughly away from her. He stepped backwards, indignant, but did not attempt to restrain her.

"Stop! You used me!" Molly was shouting now. "Don't think that you can just waltz back into my life after lying to me like that! You killed people, Jim! You lied and killed, you hurt so many people!"

"Darling, the neighbors will hear," He stage-whispered. Molly ran her hands through her hair and wiped hot tears from her eyes. She felt dizzy, and swayed dangerously. Jim caught her by her slim arms and drew her close. Her face pressed against his chest. His arms started to encircle her, to trap her, but Molly struggled against him. He sighed and slid his hand into his pocket. He produced a long syringe, filled with clear liquid. With a regretful frown, Jim plunged the needle into her bare neck. Molly cried out in pain and felt her legs go weak. She tried to stand, but only collapsed into Jim's waiting arms. With an impressive display of his strength, Jim swept her from her feet and held her in his arms like a sleeping child. Her head rolled to the side and rested on his shoulder.

"Oh, you are just adorable."

"You're 'dorable." Her words slurred and escaped her unbidden. The edges of her vision became fuzzy. She heard him laugh, and smiled at the sound. _His voice is nice. _He carried her into her bedroom and laid her on top of her pink duvet. Her thoughts swam in her head and blended together like a sloppy watercolor.

"Tell anyone I was here, and I won't hesitate to put bullets in each of their backs." He sang the names to her, his breath drifting across her neck; "Lestrade, John, Sherlock." He laughed softly. "I'm saving you for something special. Just wait." Fear seeped into her thoughts and she nodded drowsily. He smiled with animalistic delight, and the sight burned into her vision as she slipped easily into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>Molly woke slowly, her mind rising grudgingly to the surface like a child rising from the bottom of a murky pond. She swung her feet over the edge and rubbed her eyes. <em>I slept in my clothes? <em>She frowned, then got up to make herself some coffee.

While the coffee brewed, Molly stared grimly out the window and tried to recall the events of the past night from her groggy mind. Her phone buzzed from the counter, interrupting her train of thought. A text, from an unknown number. Molly considered ignoring it, but thought better. How would she feel if someone ignored her? _As if people don't already. _She sighed and opened the message.

**About time you woke up. Did you have sweet dreams about me? JM**

Molly's blood ran cold. Her memory raced back to her in sharp clarity; Jim on her couch, _alive,_ threatening her. She swallowed dryly. It buzzed again.

**Don't you have a job or something? JM**

She checked her watch and swore. She was nearly an hour late for work. Hastily pouring a travel mug of coffee, she shouldered her purse and stumbled into the late morning sun. In her hurry, she didn't notice the man sitting across the street send a text and shuffle after her, dropping his smoldering cigarette on the pavement.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Holy water cannot help you now._

_Thousand armies couldn't keep me out._

_I don't want your money,_

_I don't want your crown._

_See, I've come to burn your kingdom down."_

The fluorescent lights of the morgue burned Molly's eyes. The corpse on the examining table stared at the ceiling with blank eyes, gleaming from the harsh light. Molly took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. She had not had time to add any sugar. Her heart fluttered. She felt weighed down, burdened. She had to tell Sherlock, Lestrade, someone. She could not handle this alone. _Jim…_

The double doors flew open and Sherlock strode into the lab with his usual effortless, dramatic flair. John followed close behind. His eyelids drooped heavily and his mouth was downturned in displeasure. Sherlock stood across from Molly over the corpse and studied her closely.

"Same clothes as yesterday, Molly?" He raised an eyebrow. Molly blushed furiously. _If only he really new_. She drew in breath to respond, then stopped as her phone vibrated in her pocket.

**Say a word and he's dead.**

"You didn't change your clothes, your hair is disheveled. Clearly you did not spend the night in your own flat. You overslept this morning didn't you? No time to sweeten your coffee before work? You look exhausted, Molly. Did your overnight activities take up too much energy?" He spoke quickly, bitterly, without stopping for breath. John sighed behind him and rubbed his forehead.

"No, I…." Her mind was blank. She had no alibi, no lie to feed him, to protect him. Sherlock smirked.

John coughed loudly, drawing Sherlock's attention, then jerked his head toward the door. "Out. Now." He opened the door and held it expectantly. Sherlock looked back at Molly. Her face burned with anger and embarrassment. Tears threatened to fall. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again after a moment. His eyes dropped to the floor. He walked past John, who smiled at Molly apologetically before pursuing Sherlock.

**Top marks. Do I get to make you blush like that next time? JM**

_He can see me. _Molly glanced around the room. She looked out the window, scanning the street for him. _He 's watching me. _Raindrops began to patter the windowpane quietly. At this point, she could not help but wonder if Jim had put the body on the slab behind her, and if she would be next.

* * *

><p>Molly drew her legs up to her chest and hugged them tightly. She curled up on the sofa, far from the spot where <em>he <em>had been sitting. She took a deep, shaky, breath, and then let her tears fall. Quiet sobs shook her body. Her tears spread dark, wet blotches across her dressing gown. Sherlock's accusations would have hurt her less under ordinary circumstances, when she could have denied them. The cushion beneath her shifted as Toby arranged himself next to her. She turned her head, brushed back her damp hair, and laid a hand on his back. He purred quietly. Molly smiled sadly, and felt a warm hand rest on the back of her neck. She froze, her smile faded.

"You aren't going to purr?" He asked, playfully disappointed.

"Don't touch me."

He laughed softly and his hand shifted, gripping her thin neck with delicately. Molly could feel her blood pounding against his grasp. He did not tighten his hold, but just held her. After a moment he sighed and his hand slipped away. He bent over the back of the sofa and lifted Toby, cradling him to his chest delicately. He made small clicking noises and scratched him behind the ear. Toby had loved Jim those years ago, and Jim had displayed a special fondness for Molly's cat whenever he had visited her. Molly studied him carefully. He stood before her window, outlined by the dim light from her lamp and the glow of London in the evening. Toby purred lazily, his eyes half closed. Molly's eyes flicked towards the kitchen, to the pans hanging from the ceiling and the knives stowed in the drawer beneath them. _If I could just…. _She swung her legs off the cushions.

"Don't bother." He turned from the window and let Toby jump out of his arms. Molly felt like a child that had been caught eyeing her mother's jewelry. But she felt far more helpless. His brow furrowed.

"You wouldn't. I know you."

"You don't know anything," Molly said sharply.

"Oh, but I do. I spent so much time with you, Molly. Don't you remember?" Molly did remember. She could recall the evenings spent with him, watching Glee, cuddling with Toby, and afternoons getting coffee with far more sharpness than she would admit. He had been so kind, so soft. He was different now. Instead of cardigans and a casual demeanor, the man before her was cool, professional, and dressed in a suit she could not afford in her wildest dreams. The warmth had vanished from his eyes, replaced with reptilian hunger and calculation. He saw her every move, measured it. She had thought he was considerate and intuitive, but now she understood just how much he could see into her thoughts.

"I just thought we could spend some more time together," He was saying. "We didn't really get off to a great start, thanks to _Sherlock." _He drawled Sherlock's name with extreme distaste and smiled. "I think we need to spend some quality time together, Molly. To properly cement our relationship."

"We don't have a relationship to cement." Molly said, her voice rising. "You are a criminal! I don't want anything to do with you." She stood up quickly and stood before him. Shadows draped from the hollows in his face, accentuating his sharp chin and round eyes. Initially, Molly had only felt fear, but in the present light, his elegant face resembled carved marble. Shorter than Jim, Molly was forced to look up into his eyes.

"There's my Molly."

"I am not yours." Bitterness and anger swelled in Molly's chest. "You don't own me. You don't even know me! You used me to get to Sherlock so you could get him to-" She stopped, remembering Sherlock hurtling past her window to the ground. True, it had all been an act, a clever play, but she could not help feeling the weight of her role in his false demise.

"And you helped him fake his death, ruined my game, and broke John Watson's poor heart." His face darkened. "Which of us has done more against the greater good?"

Molly stepped back, stung. It had not been her fault. Sherlock had faked his death; she had only helped a bit.

"I didn't… That's not the same thing."

"Isn't it?" His arms crossed over his chest. "I never held a gun to anyone's head, Molly. I don't like getting my hands dirty. We are more alike than you think. We both like to help people along, don't we?" Molly dropped her eyes to the floor, but Jim gripped her chin and forced her eyes up to his own. "I arrange crimes and interfere with the British government, you help Sherlock solve crimes and mess things up for me." He winked. "See? Two of a kind, eh?"

Molly jerked her chin out of his grip. _That's not the same thing, _she told herself. They were two different people, on different sides of the law. They came from different worlds, and could not be compared. Jim Moriarty came from the upper echelon world Molly had only glimpsed, never been part of. Molly had risen from modest means and had never crossed anyone. Her mother, a strict women, vowed until her dying day that appearances mattered most, that kindness would get any woman as far as she needed to go in life. Molly had always been kind. She did not need her mother's provocation; it came naturally to her, as did her often awkward and uncontrollable honesty.

His delicate and pale fingers traced lines up her arms, giving Molly goose bumps. He snickered again. She closed her eyes, fighting her urge to slap his hands away.

"You are not as innocent as you think." Cold fingers wrapped around her neck. "Do you want to live, Molly?" She nodded with some difficulty. "And John? Lestrade?" She nodded again. "Sherlock?" She sensed danger and hesitated. Jim's head titled to the side, waiting. If she agreed, what then? Would he kill Sherlock? And if she said no, would Sherlock (and likely herself) be punished? It felt like an eternity had passed before Molly could force a small nod. He laughed.

"We can fix that." He leaned into her, his bristly cheek brushing against hers. Molly could hardly breathe, if from her own fear or Jim's grip on her throat, she was not sure. "You are my new distraction, Molly. I don't intend to share you. Don't go making any mistakes now, or I will be very cross." He breathed into her neck, whispering into her ear with terrifying softness. Molly's fists clenched, but her arms remained glued to her sides. He squeezed her neck tighter.

"I won't," She gasped, "I promise, I won't."

"There's a good girl." He leaned back and released his hold on her. Her breath returned to her shakily, awash with relief. He considered her for a moment. Molly avoided his eyes, rubbing her neck thoughtlessly. A loose strand of hair fell over her forehead. Jim took it between his fingers and tucked it behind her ear. "I am always watching you. I have eyes all over this city. If you don't behave, I'll have to call in a permanent chaperone for you." Molly shook her head. A quiet buzz drew Jim's attention. His drew his phone from his pocket and glanced at it, frowning. His chest heaved with a dramatic sigh.

"This is where I leave you dearest. You'll be hearing from me." He nodded at her distractedly. His shoes clicked down the uncarpeted hallway. Molly closed her eyes. The door creaked open.

"Bye my dear!" He sang, then slammed her door shut.

The ghost of his hand lingered on Molly's skin. Tears slipped down her face. Her back slid down the wall until she was slumped limply on the floor. Beneath her fearful and innocent exterior, Molly began to feel the beginnings of a different attitude towards James Moriarty. What it was, she could not say, but the thought terrified her more than his limitless dark eyes. With this thought in mind, Molly slipped into her soft pajamas, wrapped her self in a blanket, and cried quietly until sleep overcame her.


	4. Chapter 4

_"You understand, I got a plan for us._

_I bet you didn't know that I was dangerous."_

If Molly had ever truly experienced anxiety in her life, it was a dream compared to her days under the close eyes of James Moriarty. Every move she made she feared was being watched. She constantly saw him in the street, then realized it was just another London banker headed to the city. He haunted her thoughts, gliding across her consciousness like a malevolent shadow. If she strayed from her usual routine she received stern warnings from him in the form of threatening texts. When he was in a better mood, he flirted, albeit in an unusual way.

**I love the way you look when you cut into a corpse.**

**I'm trying to decide which crown jewel would look best with your paleness, dearest. **

**That blouse would look better at the foot of my bed. xx**

He always knew what she was wearing. He had not visited her personally in days, but he found pleasure in commenting on her day-to-day appearance. Molly preferred to wear soft pinks and creams, but Jim gave her special compliments when she wore darker shades of red and grey. His daily taunting gave Molly strange fits of anxiety, but she could not help blushing at the compliments. Sherlock had only ever mentioned her appearance when he wanted something from her, usually feeding her criticism over praise. Her heart stopped every time her phone buzzed in her pocket, then raced as she read his messages. He new what she was thinking before she thought it. As much as it terrified her, she was in awe at his deep understanding of her mind.

A week after his last appearance, Molly was greeted at the hospital by an outrageous bouquet of exotic flowers perched ostentatiously on the reception desk. When Molly pushed through the glass doors into the lobby, the receptionist, Helen, poked her head out from behind the blooms and squeaked with suppressed excitement.

"Oh Molly!" She stood quickly, her chair grating against the floor. "These were left here for you!"

Molly forced a smile. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Helen leaned forward over the desk. "The man who brought them in was absolutely _gorgeous_! Is he your boyfriend?"

"No he's-" Molly blushed furiously, struggling for words. Stalker, criminal, and psychopath all came to mind. "He's a friend."

Helen laughed. "Well he doesn't think so! What kind of friend just leaves flowers? You should have seen him!" Helen had her there. Molly faked another smile and took the flowers in her arms. A cerise petal brushed against her cheek. She mumbled her thanks to Helen and pushed open the double doors into the corridor with her back, hiding her face behind the delicate flora.

In the employee locker room, Molly stowed the flowers hastily in her locker with her coat and bag. She took her phone in her hand and stared intently at the screen. She expected a text any minute. He had delivered the flowers personally; he had to have been watching her reaction. Minutes passed before Molly dragged herself away from the dim screen and forced herself to work.

* * *

><p>The day wore on excruciatingly slowly. Every spare moment, Molly checked her phone. His silence was unbearable. Worry dug into her heart like a drill. He must have seen her reaction. Was he angry? If he was, Molly was terrified of how he would handle it. During her lunch break, Molly ate her salad silently. Various forms of violence flashed through her mind, crimes she had seen on the news committed once more with herself as the victim. She had no idea what he was capable of. Lestrade had told her about the people he had strapped explosives too; an old woman, a child… She shivered. Her appetite gone, she threw away the soggy remnants of her meal and shrugged into her lab coat.<p>

Even the most gruesome bodies in the morgue could not distract her. She only imagined her own body on an examination table, broken and bruised by an assassin's hand. If killing her suited Jim's fancy, would he do it himself? No, he did not get his hands dirty, he had said so himself. He could arrange an accident, poison her, or have a sniper shoot her through the window. _Stop it, _she thought_, You aren't helping anyone by thinking like this. _

When Molly finished her last examination and filed the necessary paperwork, she gathered her things (including the slightly wilted bouquet) and walked quickly through the lobby.

Helen, putting on her coat and shutting down her computer, waved to Molly as she passed. "Tell you boyfriend hi for me!" Molly pretended she didn't hear.

On the tube, Molly received knowing smiles from the other passengers, who gazed at the rainbow of blooms on her lap with a mixture of admiration and jealousy. A woman even told her how lucky she was to have a man who gave her that much attention. At the steps of her front door she paused, holding her keys in her hand. She felt numb, like she had just emerged from a frozen lake. Her keys rattled in the lock. Without bothering to turn the lights on, Molly walked into the kitchen and got out a vase. She filled it with water from the tap, tucked the flowers in carefully, and set it on her table. Feeling her exhaustion weighing her down, she sat down and rest her forehead on the polished wood. Sleep threatened to overcome her, whispering to her that she could just slip away…

A floorboard creaked behind her. Fabric rustled faintly. Molly turned her head on its side and looked up at him. Jim gazed down at her, his eyes narrowed in a glare burning with something Molly did not understand. She turned her head away from him, avoiding his stare.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Why should I?"

Molly shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Because you're bored. I don't know what else you plan to do."

"Don't be obvious, Molly. It doesn't suit you." His voice was low, so quiet that Molly had to strain to here it. "You didn't like my flowers."

"No, I did." Molly straightened her back. She could not face him. Her hands twisted in her lap. "I don't understand this."

"I thought it was the ordinary thing to do, to send women flowers?"

"No Jim!" Molly felt a surge of frustration and stood up. Her chair clattered to the floor loudly. Molly flushed with anger and embarrassment and straightened the chair, flustered. Jim laughed quietly, but stopped when Molly turned her pained frown upon him. "This is not funny. I don't know what you expected, but if you think you can just use me to get to Sherlock again, you are so wrong!" Angry tears sprouted from the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Jim reached for her, but Molly shoved him roughly in the chest. He stumbled back a few steps. His eyes seemed to grow several shades darker. His hands curled to fists. He closed the distance between them in an instant and gripped Molly's forearms in a vice-like grip. She twisted and struggled in vain. He pulled her away from the table and slammed her back into the smooth, papered wall, rattling old picture frames.

"Don't be so obvious Molly. You don't understand anything." He hissed at her, pushing her hands above her head, trapping her against the wall.

"Don't pretend you actually cared about me."

Jim eyed her for a moment, thoughtful. She glared back at him, mustering her last reserves of strength to appear defiant. His head tilted slightly.

Then his lips descended upon hers. Molly closed her eyes instinctively. Goosebumps prickled on the back of her neck. She turned her face away from him, but his lips were magnets, pulling her back again.

"Jim, stop…" She could smell his expensive cologne, metallic and sharp. His lips parted hers and bit down sharply. Molly should have been fighting, kicking, throwing her arms out at his sharply angled face. But she couldn't. Her muscles went weak, and she felt her lips responding to his. A small groan escaped him. His hands glided down her arms, leaving an icy trail across her skin. He reached her hips and pulled her closer to him, almost lifting her. Her neck arched backwards. She dropped her hands and gripped his shoulders tightly. His motions became more urgent, aggressive. His fingers dug into her hips painfully, but Molly did not protest. She felt like liquid in his arms. Her mind screamed for him to stop, but another part of her begged him not to. One of his hands slipped beneath the hem of her blouse and slid across her waist, sending ripples of sensation throughout her nerves.

"I own you, Molly." His mouth wandered to her shoulder and nipped at her thin collarbone. He pushed her back into the wall. Molly gasped, struggling for air.

"No, Jim, I-" He crushed her lips again, forcing her to respond. He pressed his forehead to hers and smiled, dark, greedy.

"Oh, yes. I own you, and I don't want to share you." His fingernails raked across the small of her back. His left hand gripped her neck tightly, jerking her face up to meet his. His other hand pulled her towards him, bending her back until she thought it would break. "Not with anyone," He muttered into the gentle curve of her neck. His grip tightened.

"Jim…" Molly whimpered.

"Say it," He demanded. "And best be convincing, I can tell when you're lying."

"I'm yours." The words slipped from her tongue unbidden. His eyes, deep brown and hungry, drank her in. "I am yours, Jim." Her heartbeat slowed. For an eternity he stared into her eyes.

"Then I suppose it's settled."

He dragged his lips down her neck, across her collarbone, tracing the planes of her skin. Molly bent her neck and stared at the ceiling. She bit her lip, fighting back the sounds that threatened to betray her. Jim's arms encircled her torso, growling, "Mine, all mine," into her hair.

If Jim thought she had lied, he certainly did not appear to mind. If believed her, Molly feared that he would keep his word, and never let her escape. Even more than that, she feared that she would not want to.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Babe, there's something tragic about you._

_Something so magic about you._

_Don't you agree?"_

Thin, red lines ran across Molly's back, stinging to the touch. She craned her neck towards her mirror, arm bent oddly behind her to hold up the hem of her shirt. A strand of hair slipped over her shoulder and dangled down her back. After a moment she let the fabric drop over her back, concealing the angry red streaks. _Out of sight, out of mind, _she thought.

The light of Saturday morning spilled into her flat, coloring her pink and white blankets with soft shades of yellow and rose. Black cabs buzzed past on the street below, spiriting weekend tourists to the banks of the Thames to visit Parliament or the London Eye. Molly closed her eyes and tried to drown them out. Behind her lids, she saw flashes of violet, chillingly dark eyes, hands sliding down soft fabric… Her eyes snapped open again. She put her hand on her cheek and felt her face burning.

He had left her the night before, haughty and very pleased with himself, Molly shaking, nearly hyperventilating. It all seemed like a dream to her. She could almost feel his hands on her again, she wanted them there… No. Her face frowned back at her, reflected in the window. She could not let herself be drawn in by his charms. _How could I have let him do that? _

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Expecting the usual blocked number, Molly was stunned to see Tom's smiling face light up her screen.

**Hey molly! Id really like to talk to you about something, maybe we could have coffee sometime? :)**

She stared at the message in disbelief. Before she could answer, his face was replaced by the default blank square indicating a blocked number.

**Tell him you would rather be burned alive.**

It buzzed again.

**Or tell him that he can go jump off a bridge.**

** Either way, he should know better. You too. xx**

Molly's frown deepened. She typed a short response, then waited for Jim to comment; **Sorry Tom, I have plans tonight.**

** Could be worse, I guess it'll do.**

_It'll do, _she thought bitterly. Perhaps out of anger, or because of a latent desire to rebel, Molly did something very stupid, and (she thought) very brave; She swiped her phone back to life, found Tom's number, and dialed.

"Hey Tom!" She feigned calm and control. "My plans just canceled, you want to meet for lunch? Great! I'll see you then!"

As she tied her pink scarf around her neck, her phone buzzed. Molly ignored it and stowed it in her purse. It buzzed ceaselessly all the way to the café, like an angry hornet trapped in her bag.

* * *

><p>Molly waited in front of the café silently. It was beginning to seem like this might have been a bad idea. Jim had sent her almost 30 messages, but she had read none of them. She was too afraid. Wind lapped at her jacket, tossing locks of hair into her face. She brushed them back with a gloved hand and took a deep breath. Tom was nearly 10 minutes late. What could he possibly….<p>

An old, grey car rounded the corner of the block and parked across the street from the café. Molly peered curiously at it, and waved when she saw Tom in the drivers seat. _I didn't know he had a car now, _she thought. Tom looked at her and smiled feebly. He made no move to get out. Molly beckoned him over, but he shook his head. Tears glistened on his cheeks. She took a step forward, but was thrown backward onto the sidewalk as a tremendous explosion wrenched the car apart. Her elbows stung on contact with the pavement. A piece of metal flew towards her and through the window of the café behind her, shattering the glass and eliciting screams of terror from the happy customers inside. Flames danced through the windows, shattered safety glass glittered on the ground.

Time seemed to halt completely. Screams of bystanders became muffled hums. Molly tried to stand but cried out when her elbow screamed in protest. She touched it delicately, and felt her hot blood mixed with tiny fragments of the pavement. A hand gripped her arm and pulled her from the ground, pulling her away from the burning car. She stared at the flames. The intensity of the light seared at her eyes, but she did not care.

A black car pulled in front of the wreckage, obscuring Molly's view. The hand on her arm tugged harder. She pulled away from it angrily. The car stopped before her, the back tinted window directly in front of her. Slowly, the window rolled down. Jim gazed at her from behind designer sunglasses. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, looked at the burning car on the other side of the street, then smiled.

"Having a bit of fun?" His gum cracked between his teeth. He swung his door open and slid across to the other sat. "Care to join me?" He rubbed the seat suggestively. Molly stared at him. For a moment she considered running, fast and hard towards her flat. A woman behind her asked if she needed help. Another was talking frantically into her phone to the police.

"Do you need the police?" Molly turned at stared at the woman. "Who is this man?" The woman was staring at Jim now, completely ignoring the wreckage. Molly looked at her, then met Jim's eyes again.

"No, its okay," She said. "My boyfriend is here to pick me up." From the corner of her eye Molly saw Jim grinning as she slipped into the seat beside him. He reached across her and slammed the door shut.

* * *

><p>"You know, I used to think that you were ordinary, but now I think you're just stupid."<p>

Molly stared, unseeing, out the window. She was more composed than she expected, considering she had just seen her former fiancé burn alive.

"You probably thought you were being brave," He continued, "but you are just stupid. But don't worry, it wont happen again."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She said flatly.

"Well, you know, if you wouldn't go off and do stupid things like that, I wouldn't have to get you a babysitter."

"I don't need a babysitter." She looked at him, finally able to look him in the eye. He had just killed a man, and seemed to have forgotten it all together.

"Apparently you do." He gestured at the driver. "Meet Sebastian. He'll be keeping an eye on you for me. You'll be taking some time off work, as well. I told them you have mononucleosis." He smirked. "They thought it would be best if you stay at home for a spell." The driver nodded, but paid them little attention. His mouth was set in a disinterested frown, as if the grey street was infinitely more interesting to him than his passengers.

"What, you're going to lock me up? In my own house?" Molly's voice broke. "You can't." Her hands shook violently, so she balled them into fists, forcing the blood from her tiny fingers until they where ghostly white.

"Um, I can, and I don't think you are in the position to tell me what to do." He pulled out his sunglasses and glared fiercely at her. The car stopped abruptly.

"Welcome home," Sebastian said dryly. Molly's flat loomed above the car. Grey clouds shifted overhead, making it look less like a charming residence and more like a prison. Molly gripped the handle of the door, but looked back at Jim. She half expected him to burst into laughter and mock her for actually thinking he was serious. He only frowned at her.

"Go on. Your time-out starts now." She pushed the door open and stepped out, but he caught hold of her wrist and pulled her back towards him roughly. She lost her balance and fell onto the seat.

"Don't be stupid. I am always watching you. Sebastian will be here, and who knows what he'll do. He's not as nice as I am." His eyes danced wickedly. "You never know when I might pop in for a chat." His lips brushed the back of her hand, and Molly cringed. His hand slipped from her wrist. Molly stumbled out of the car and stood on the damp sidewalk. Jim blew her a kiss as his window slid closed. Sebastian flicked a half smoked cigarette onto the curb, and the car was gone.

For several moments, Molly was rooted to the sidewalk. Thoughts danced viscously in her head, a mixture of fury, grief, and deep fear of what lay would be no end to Jim Moriarty any time soon, not if he had anything to say about it.


	6. Chapter 6

_"I promise to be good, don't look in the mirror_

_At the face you don't recognize."_

The flat was silent. Molly's alarm did not go off in the morning, Toby made no hungry sounds from the kitchen, and no noises from the street made their way into her cold rooms. Fear prevented her from approaching the windows and doors. He could always see her, he had said. Sebastian could be hiding around any corner, waiting for her to make a mistake and give him an excuse to send a bullet through her chest.

_"You never know when I might pop in for a chat."_

Molly clutched an untouched mug of cold tea tightly in her hands. In the corner of her kitchen, on the floor beneath the top of the counters was one of the only places in her flat that could not be seen from the outside.

Molly had neither seen nor heard from Jim in the three days since he had left her on the sidewalk in front of her flat. The only sign of Sebastian's presence she had seen was the frequent appearance of the small, red pinprick of light from a laser sight. On the first day, she had peeked out her front door and it appeared on her chest, sending her scurrying back inside. The next day she slid open the window of her bedroom and was nearly blinded by the angry red light directed into her eyes. She had fallen clumsily back onto the floor, bruising her already pained elbow. The window was still open, letting the frigid morning air sweep over her unmade bed.

On the wall in front of her was a framed photo of herself from her primary school days. Long braided hair, tidy uniform, innocence and naivety practically written across her tiny face. The world had seemed to be so wonderful at the time, as wonderful as a child could imagine it to be: Full of heroes, princesses, and monsters to be slain. Of course, the world was nothing like that. Sherlock had proven that to her. Jim had wrapped the cold and heartlessness of the real world around Molly like a heavy shroud. No such illusions of the world were left to her, replaced with harsh realities of violence that she saw every day in the morgue. It occurred to her that some other unfortunate pathologist would be examining the charred remains of Tom's body.

She stood up abruptly and put her mug in the sink. For a moment she stared at the photograph, slightly faded with age. She pulled it from the hook and slipped the paper from between the glass and stiff cardboard. _Just a stupid little girl, I had no idea…._

In a drawer Molly found a book of matches and struck one. The flame sputtered to life, then burned steadily. She touched it to the photograph. The thick paper curled within the flame. Molly dropped it on her counter and watched the fire consume the thin, young face. Small crackles broke the silence. _That's not me anymore, _she thought.

Molly brushed the ashes into her hand and washed them down the sink. Had she ever truly been so stupid? The world was not made of good people and bad people. She had been foolish to think so. Even those she had thought heroic disappointed her in the end.

Her phone beeped loudly and Molly jumped, cursing under her breath.

**Kings Cross. 20 mins. Don't be late.**

Her stomach plummeted. It could only be Jim. Who else ordered her about with cryptic texts? Forgetting her messy bun and untidy t-shirt, Molly buttoned her coat and half ran outside. In her frustration and anxiety, she once again did not notice the man watching her from across the street.

Sebastian watched Molly burst out the door and run down the street with confused frustration. Had Jim given her permission to leave without his knowledge? He had scared the girl so easily and affectively; she had avoided even going near the door for two days. He frowned, but decided to consult his employer before proceeding too hastily.

**Did you let Molly out finally?**

It was several minutes before he received a response.

**Go get her. Now.**

"Shit," Sebastian shouted, drawing angry glares from passers by. If Jim hadn't let her out… He felt his gun in his waistband. He took off after Molly, footsteps echoing loudly off the brick around him.

Molly waited in front of the ticket office of King's Cross Station anxiously, wringing her hands and glancing around, searching for Jim. Why would he want to meet her here? He had only ever contacted her at work or come personally to her flat. Tired travelers moved past her in droves, some heading for the underground and others for trains heading to further destinations. Her eye caught on every dark haired or suited man, then fell away when it was not him. Her heart leapt each time, fearful, but oddly excited. She was glad he had let her leave, but wasn't sure why.

Sebastian pushed aggressively past a large family pushing heavily laden trolleys, headed towards the platforms. He searched frantically, shouting profanities and tearing at his hair. _Why did I let her go? What was I fucking thinking? _He spun on his heel towards the shops preceding the main hall and slammed into a hooded figure. Sebastian raised a fist and cursed violently.

"Watch were you're fucking-" He stopped short and stared. If Sebastian knew anything, it was how to hide a gun beneath layers of clothes. The normal people jostling past them would never notice, but Sebastian could not miss it. The man smiled from beneath his hood, and took off towards the ticket office, disappearing into the crowd. Sebastian pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed, running headlong into the crowd.

"She's here. She's at King's Cross. Somewhere in the crowd. Someone here's got a gun." The voice on the other end of the line shouted a long string of profanities. A violent crack split into Sebastian's ear as the phone made contact with something very hard.

Several people frowned at Molly in confusion. She had been standing in the same spot for some time, ignoring their questioning looks and the announcements of departing trains. She wanted to leave desperately. She checked her watch. It had been well over 20 minutes. When she looked back up into the crowd staring up at the schedule, she noticed one man who was not. He stared at her intently for a moment before raising his arm. Molly raised her hand slightly to wave. She smiled politely, and saw the gun in his raised hand. Her face fell.

"Molly!" Someone shouted next to her. The gun fired noiselessly. An impact at her waist pushed her aside. The bullet missed her heart and tore through her shoulder. She fell to the floor, landing hard, crushed by a heavy man who had knocked her away. Her vision clouded. Hands rolled her onto her back and patted her face roughly.

"Molly look at me. Molly!" Sebastian's face swam above her. More shouts, and someone pushed Sebastian off her roughly.

"Jim…" She muttered. Someone's foot hit her shoulder and she screamed in pain.

"Get back! Fuck all of you, I'll rip your lungs out! Sebastian, find him!" Footsteps faded away, and Sebastian's face was replaced with Jim's. A voice above Molly was talking quickly, describing the attack to emergency services. Warm blood was spreading across Molly's shirt and pooling on the floor. Jim was shouting again, fighting off concerned bystanders trying to help her.

"Sir, we need to get her into an ambulance."

"Fuck off! I'll kill you if you touch her!"

Someone jostled her slightly and was knocked back by Jim.

"Jim stop…" Molly felt dizzy. She remembered when she had twisted the chains of the swing as a child, and the sensation of letting it spin out of control. She called for her mother to make it stop. When it ended, she collapsed on the ground and cried until she could walk again. _This is worse, _she thought sluggishly.

His shouts echoed in the station. Paramedics swarmed around her. Someone was holding Jim back, pulling him away. They lifted her and carried her out onto the street and into the waiting ambulance. Someone held her hand tightly. They spoke to each other quickly, evaluating her condition.

"Is someone bringing her boyfriend?"

"Yeah, but he broke Brian's nose so I think the police are taking him."

_He broke someone's nose. _Molly had no idea who Brian was, but she instantly felt sorry for him. The ambulance hit a bump and Molly shouted in pain.

"It's all right dear, we're almost there."

"We're going to have to put her under." They spoke as if she could not hear them. What would have happened had Sebastian not pushed her away? An image of her own body spread out on an examination table in a morgue flashed across her mind's eye. A clean gunshot wound in her chest and her hands neatly folded.

"Where's Jim? Who shot… who shot me?" She flinched and cried out, "God, I hate him."

"Its ok sweetie," The female paramedic smiled down at her. "He'll be there when you wake up. I promise."


	7. Chapter 7

_"It must be fate, I found a place for us._

_I bet you didn't know someone could love you this much."_

"Your shoulder muscles were torn up a bit and you lost a lot of blood, but you should have a successful recovery. Just get a lot of rest, don't use your arm too much, ok?"

Molly nodded, not really listening. White bandages restricted the movement of her shoulder and a nylon sling supported her arm. The doctor coughed loudly. She tore her gaze reluctantly from the window.

"Ms Hooper, the police will be wanting to speak with you. When you're ready, of course."

"I don't want to talk to the police." She looked back at the window and closed her eyes. The starched sheets rubbed against her legs uncomfortably.

"Ms Hooper, if you want your attacker to be caught I advise you to-"

"Thank you doctor, but I think Molly can take care of herself." Jim was standing in the doorway. Molly's throat tightened. His eyes met hers, but he did not smile, wink, or stray from his cold demeanor. The doctor muttered something about another patient and stumbled out of the room. Jim's eyes followed him. He shut the door and walked slowly to Molly's bedside. "Who was it?"

"Who was who?" Molly dropped her eyes to her lap.

"Don't play stupid. I've read all your messages. Who told you to go to King's Cross?"

"I don't know." She inhaled shakily. "I thought it was you."

"Well, that helps." Jim sat down at the foot of her bed and massaged his temples. "Smarter than the average teenager."

His suit stretched across his back as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He ran his hands over his slicked back hair and sighed.

"Jim," She said tentatively, "I thought it was you. If I had known, I…" She trailed off. What could she have done?

"It doesn't matter. We're leaving." He rose suddenly.

"What do you mean?" Something wasn't right. "Leaving where?"

"London. It's getting a bit old here, isn't it? All the ordinary people…"

"Jim, I can't just _leave. _I have work, and Toby and-"

"Stop talking. If you say another word…" He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. There was a soft knock and the door opened slightly. The doctor peeked through timidly.

"So sorry to, um, interrupt, but Ms. Hooper's brother is here to take her home." The door flew open with a bang, revealing Sebastian, his foot still raised from kicking the door.

"Ready Molly?" He raised an eyebrow at her. Molly frowned, but nodded. Jim glared at the doctor.

"Don't you have a patient to kill?"

The doctor looked hurt, but shuffled down the hall without comment. Jim nodded to Sebastian. "You know what to do. Do not contact me until you've gotten there."

* * *

><p>"You can't just take me like this!" Molly sat in the back seat of Jim's dark car, shouting at Sebastian in the front seat. "I have a job! Someone is going to notice I'm gone and-"<p>

"As far as your coworkers are concerned, you just got shot and are going on holiday to get your strength back. I don't think anyone will really care."

"Just tell me _something!_"

Sebastian scoffed. "No. What would you do if I told you, anyway? Don't worry, all your things are packed and ready to go already." He gripped the steering wheel tighter and muttered, "Bloody fun time that was. Is that all the thanks I get?" Molly's anger faltered.

"Thank you," She said, "Sebastian. Thank you for pushing me out of the way."

"Don't mention it," He growled.

They arrived at London Oxford Airport as the sun was setting and rain was beginning to dampen the pavement. A small jet waited on the tarmac. The captain rushed forward to open Molly's door, umbrella in hand, as soon as Sebastian parked.

"Ms Hooper," He grinned. She took his hand awkwardly, reaching across her body with her uninjured arm. They jogged to the jet, the captain shielding her with his umbrella. She blinked at the change of light and stared at the luxurious features of the airplane. Sebastian grunted behind her. She moved aside to let him board. He was drenched in rain and scowling angrily. He glared at the captain.

"Thanks mate. Go fly the fucking plane." His soaked clothes squelched loudly as he slammed down into a smooth leather seat by the window. Molly adjusted her sling slightly and sat across the aisle from him.

"I don't suppose there's any point in asking where we're going?"

"None at all."

Molly laughed to herself. What did she expect? A sliver of the sun peeked over the horizon. The jet began to taxi away from the car. Lights flickered to life above her, casting a warm glow across the cabin. The sliver shrank, casting more and more of the world into shadow. It finally disappeared, leaving the dark rainclouds glowing red and purple. Rain pattered against the windows. Molly closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. The jet accelerated and lifted from the ground slowly. Her chest felt compressed by the momentum. _This isn't over, _Molly thought. _Its not that easy._


	8. Chapter 8

_"Oh sinner man, where you gonna run to?"_

The country below the wings of the jet was green, dotted with trees, and divided into small farms by rows of vegetation and low stone walls. The flight passed quickly; Molly had fallen asleep, but was woken by dawn light shining through her window. Sebastian checked his watch and moaned. Molly's phone sat on the tray table in front of her. It jingled loudly. Sebastian jumped out of his seat and seized it before Molly had hardly blinked.

"That's mine!" She shouted.

"I know," He said. "And you are not very responsible with it. Jim thought you could survive without it for a while." Molly opened her mouth to respond angrily, but he raised a hand to silence her. "Don't bother. I couldn't care less about all this. I'm here for a paycheck. So don't test me." He slipped her phone into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it, blew out a cloud of smoke, and sighed contently. He caught Molly's disapproving stare and swore. "Don't give me that look. Fucking health care specialist, aren't you. Go back to your pouting."

She fanned a stray curl of smoke away from her face. The smell burned her throat. Aware there was nothing she could say, she returned her attention to the slowly growing scenery beneath her, and tried to ignore the obnoxious fumes.

* * *

><p>"Willkommen in Berlin, gnädige Frau. Darf ich Ihre Tasche zu nehmen?"<p>

Molly blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't…" Sebastian pushed past her.

"Nehmen ihre Taschen zum Auto. Sie braucht, um zu Hotel Adlon Kempinski zu gehen. Nicht mit ihr sprechen." The man nodded and forced a frown. He offered Molly his hand politely and helped her down the steps from the warm jet into the chilly evening air, then silently led her to the waiting car. Molly smiled to him, but received no response. He avoided her eyes and opened the door for her. She slid inside and looked imploringly back at Sebastian. He ignored her, speaking rapidly to the driver. When he finished, the driver scuttled back and forth, loading bags into the trunk of the car, and with a last nervous glance at Sebastian, stumbled into the driver's seat and drove cautiously towards the city.

* * *

><p>Molly had never been to Berlin. The city gleamed beneath the frost and fog, large orange and white buildings towering over the narrow streets.<p>

The Hotel Adlon Kempinski was an impressive building. On one side, the Brandenburg Gate swarmed with tourists, even in the bitter cold, on the other stood the imposing white stone and black fence of the Russian Embassy. The hotel itself glowed with entitlement, luxury, and age-old self-importance.

Several valets sporting green uniforms scurried out of the front doors as the car came to a stop, and carried in her bags, barely giving her a second glance. Finally relieved of his passenger, the driver took off, tires screeching. Molly waited before the doors and bit her lips nervously. _Should I go in? Where is Sebastian? What if they don't speak English… _

The doors opened again, and a tall man in a well-fitted, forest green suit strutted out her and bowed, bearing his perfect, white teeth in a practiced smile. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back and touched with grey at the temples. She smiled apprehensively.

"You are Ms Hooper, yes?" Molly nodded. "It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Klaus Albrecht, manager of the Adlon Kempinski. I have been asked to personally welcome you to Berlin."

"Thank you," She said. He offered his arm graciously. Molly took it and was lead obediently into the glowing hotel.

"This is your suite, Ms Hooper. I trust you will enjoy your stay here. I am always available if you need anything at all."

"Thank you, I…" Molly was speechless. The luxurious suite before her was unlike anything she had ever seen; Silver candlesticks, polished wood furniture, and a burning fireplace carved in mahogany and stone. Something stirred in the adjoining bedroom, and Toby sauntered towards her, meowing loudly. Molly cried out in delight and kneeled down to scratch his ears. Klaus laughed.

"I am glad you have found him. A delightful creature, although our staff had some difficulty in persuading him to cooperate." He bowed and gripped the gleaming doorknob. "If you are comfortable, I will take my leave."

"Yes, thank you so much." Molly hugged Toby close to her chest with her good arm and put on her bravest smile. Klaus pulled the door closed after him, but peeked back in.

"One last thing, Madame. I have been instructed to ensure that you do not leave your suite, unless accompanied by Mr. Moran, or Mr. Brook himself." Her smile fell. _Mr. Brook. _Toby wrestled from her grasp and pranced into the bedroom.

"Oh. I see."

"Good evening."

* * *

><p><em>People bustled around her, pushing her every direction. Molly cried out, searching desperately for him. Someone called her name.<em>

_"Molly…"_

_"Wait, I'm coming!" She saw his face for a brief moment as the crowd parted slightly. Someone pushed her away, knocking the breath from her lungs. He smirked. He started to turn, to walk away from her._

_"Stop! I'm coming!" She pushed harder against the waves of people. A loud bang pounded her ears. The world went silent, droves of people still pushing her farther from him. Molly looked down at her chest and saw a dark stain spreading across her shirt. She looked up and saw him, partially obscured by the shifting crowd, laughing. His face contorted with sick amusement. Molly fell to her knees and pressed her hands to the hot, wet mess._

_"Don't be frightened, Molly." He said softly. He bent down in front of her. His hand reached for her face and wiped away a hot tear. "You can't die yet, I haven't given you permission." His hand dropped to her chest and he pushed her away. She fell back without resistance, and kept falling. Her chest was empty, hollow. The ground raced towards her, black pavement gleaming from the rain, past the windows of St. Bart's…_

A scream tore from Molly's throat, horse and animalistic. Her back must be broken, and a bullet had been driven into her chest. She grasped at her shirt, only feeling the soft, dry cotton. She let out a sigh of relief. The soft sheets clung to her legs, damp with sweat. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but Molly felt in no mood to cry in self-pity. She had done too much of that already.

Large clumps of sticky snow fell on the balcony outside. Morning light was beginning to tinge the horizon over the Tiergarten, casting cool light over the black trees. The Brandenburg Gate was devoid of tourists and dusted with snow like powdered sugar. Molly pressed her face to the glass door and stared at the city longingly. Yellow lights from the houses and shopping streets blinked to life, one by one like opening eyes. Molly's breath fogged the window. She leaned back and squinted through the small cloud. She puffed another breath, and dragged her finger over the glass. She felt like a child again, drawing snowflakes on the windows when it was too cold to play outside.

Her shoulder throbbed and the bandages began to itch. She closed her eyes tightly ad fought the urge to rip off the binding and flex her tired muscles. In her head, she pieced together her fragmented memories of the station, pulling the likeness of the shooter forward. She hadn't really seen his face. His hood shadowed his features. Molly had thought he was waving to her…

_Why me?_ She thought. What could a murder possibly want badly enough to kill her? _I don't have anything valuable, I'm nobody special. Jim- _

Jim. It had to be him. Molly had seen enough American movies to know that girlfriends, family, _significant others, _were always a weakness. Targets. Someone thought Molly was valuable enough to Jim that they could actually hurt him by ending her. Someone who hated Jim, watched him closely, _watched Molly closely, _had wanted to hurt Jim. To destroy him. _Am I that important to him?_

The door creaked in the sitting room, heals clicked sharply on the floor. Keys jingled onto the coffee table. Molly stood her ground, staring pensively out the window. The window reflected his silhouette behind her. She closed her eyes and waited.

"You look so dramatic. Been watching Glee again?" He laughed thickly. Molly turned to him and frowned. He mimicked her frown and drooped his shoulders. "Don't be such a downer." He reached for her bandaged shoulder and toyed with a frayed thread under the collar of her shirt. Molly's eyes dropped to the floor. He waved his hands dismissively and crossed the room to a cabinet above the counter. He produced a large green bottle, and two small glasses. He filled one glass almost completely and poured a shots worth into the other. He swigged from the full glass and grimaced, holding the other out to Molly.

"It's 7:30, Jim."

"I'm Irish, Molly."

She took the offered whiskey, but didn't drink it. She watched Jim down half of his own in one practiced gulp. Noticing her eye, he grinned. "Drink up." Molly downed the amber liquid and coughed as it scorched her throat. Jim smiled slightly, but it fell as he considered her. "You're going to stay put. I've got lots of important and boring things to do."

"Do I have a say in this?" Her lips tightened.

"No. So don't do anything stupid." He grinned wickedly at Molly's flushed face. "Find something sexy to wear, we're going out tonight."

"I don't want to."

"You are such a buzz kill."

"I want to go outside." Molly felt her muscles tense in anxious anticipation. This was a demand, not a request. If she wanted to gain ground, she needed to know what she could do.

"Why?" He scoffed, "Every time you leave your flat you get shot or get someone blown up." She swallowed the sting and pushed harder.

"You can't keep me locked up here all the time while you go off and hurt people!"

"Is that what you think I do?" He smirked. "I'm not a bully, Molly. That's just boring."

"I wont let you do this to me. You killed Tom, imprisoned me, and almost got me _killed._" Something in Jim's eye shifted. She nearly missed the almost invisible shift from dismissive to pained. "You owe me that much, Jim." He cast his eyes past her, through the window to the glistening city bathed in early sunlight. He finished his drink and nodded.

"I… owe you."


	9. Chapter 9

_"I will not ask you where you came from._

_I will not ask and neither should you._

_Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips,_

_We should just kiss like real people do."_

In mid-January, nearly all of the remnants of Christmas had been removed and stored away for next year. The Christmas market vendors had packed their wares and moved on soon after the New Year, so the streets were bare and icy without the warmth of the tiny shops and tourists.

Molly's activities were strictly limited to those approved by Sebastian, since Jim had given only vague instructions before he strutted off to do his own business. Instead of staying in the city, Sebastian opted to take Molly somewhere, in his words, "where there won't be so many bloody Germans in my face."

Schloss Sanssouci, in nearby Potsdam, was an easily defendable attraction. Sebastian would not have to worry too much about snipers positioned in tall buildings, so it was safe. He spoke rapidly in German to the curator inside, while Molly gazed open-mouthed at the splendor of the palace. Snow crusted grapes and leaves, carved in stone, draped over the windows as if they had grown there. Despite the thick clouds overhead, the yellow walls glowed. Skeletal, leafless tree branches grasped at the grey sky, bunches of mistletoe perched absurdly in their grasp.

"Molly!" Sebastian barked at her from the entrance. "If you want to freeze out there, be my guest, but I'm going in." Molly pulled her parka tighter against her, carefully shifting it over her shoulder.

"You lucky girl," Sebastian drawled sarcastically, ushering her inside. "Your boyfriend has booked the whole damn palace for you."

"He's not my boyfriend," Molly muttered. A flurry of snow followed her inside, sticking to her eyelashes and hair.

"Yeah, whatever."

* * *

><p>The Marble Hall was where Molly spent most of her day. She stared up into the great dome until her neck was sore, memorizing the details each carving and complicated ornaments. Apollo and Venus gazed down at her from niches in the wall. The muscles in her neck ached, but she ignored it. She spun in slow circle, letting her eyes float between the gilded leaves and soft marble flesh. Outside, the clouds parted and harsh sunlight reflected off the crystal chandelier, blinding her. She squeezed her eyes shut and stumbled dizzily to the side, and collided with a marble pillar. She gasped sharply and twisted to avoid hitting her injured shoulder against the stone. Her feet twisted clumsily. She teetered for a split second before falling into outstretched arms behind her, gasping with surprise and relief.<p>

"You're a horrible dancer." Molly tried to get to her feet, but her shoes slid against the smooth marble floor, and he took hold of her gently, snaking an arm around her waste, the other along her sling. "I'll pretend I didn't see that."

"I wasn't dancing," Molly growled. She struggled to her feet and stumbled a few steps away from him, straightening her shirt. She locked her eyes on the floor to hide her flaming cheeks. Jim leaned back casually against a pillar and watched her, barely concealing his content smile. She chanced a look at him, his playful expression daring her to lie to him. _Impress me, _it said. Molly smiled in spite of herself.

"I was just looking at the dome, all the carvings." She pointed up awkwardly, as if Jim wouldn't understand what she'd been doing. "They're nice."

"An understatement," Jim replied softly. He swept across the gap and took her right hand in his. "If the French have done anything right, it was the sculpting of those statues." He pointed at the statue of Venus, his hand entwined with hers. Goosebumps appeared on her arms. He moved behind her, his body encircling her. His left hand rested on her waist, guiding her about the room like a dancer. "There's Venus, goddess of love, sex, beauty…" He breathed down the back of her neck. She shivered and her breath caught in her throat. "And Apollo." He pulled her backwards until she could see both of the figures. His chest pressed against her with each inhalation, sending tremors up Molly's spine. "Music, knowledge, poetry, and plague." He laughed, blowing a tuft of mousy hair onto Molly's face. He pressed his face into her loose bun and his grip on her hand tightened.

"Jim," She said quietly.

"I should have you carved in marble."

"I don't think I'd look as pretty as her." Molly cast her eyes away from the flawless effigy, frowning. He tugged fiercely on her waist. She faced him and was momentarily stunned by the anger in his eyes.

"Why do you do that, Molly?" His brow furrowed. Molly looked down and laughed. She felt stung, but unwilling to admit it. "Why do you undervalue yourself? You think you're worthless. Why?" Her chest felt hollow. She tried to pull away from him but his grip tightened. "Why, Molly?" His voice was strained. Molly bit her lip and looked away. Tears were clouding her vision and threatening to fall.

"I just… I don't…"

"Molly, you are completely wrong about yourself. You let people walk all over you. You let people use you and hurt you, tell you that you are worthless, ordinary." Her tears fell, huge drops cascading down her pink cheeks. She shook her head at him. "You are _completely wrong,_" he said.

"I don't count. There's nothing special about me."

"_Molly,_" He implored, "You are important." Jim flinched painfully, and Molly met his gaze. The genuine pain in his eyes surprised her. "You are beautiful, even if you don't believe me, you are. The way you look when you're happy, when you're angry, I would kill for it." His grip on her hand softened. "I would _kill for you._ Don't you see how _valuable_ you are?" His hand left her hip and traced her jaw delicately. His thumb brushed away a tear. Molly felt something twinge in her chest and seep into her blood, igniting every vein, to each finger, her lungs. He arched his neck and brushed his lips on her neck. She let out a strangled laugh, and her body shook.

"If you think this is funny, I-" She looked up at him and what caught off guard. His mask of arrogance was gone, replaced by earnest… devotion? It was the most naked and purely human expression she had ever seen on him. He did not need to speak, his eyes spoke for him. They begged her, rather than ordered her, to listen. For the first time, Molly thought that Jim was being honest, and had decided to tell her. "You- you care about me?"

"Haven't you been paying attention?" He smirked slightly, but his eyes remained unchanged.

"What about all the 'sentiment is weakness' stuff?"

"That's Sherlock, not me. The Virgin hasn't got an emotional bone in his body. I thought you would have picked that up by now."

Every muscle in Molly's body relaxed. Her hand slid down into Jim's and their fingers intertwined. His other hand slid down from her jaw to her neck. Molly stood on her toes. This time, she kissed him; softly, slowly. His eyes closed. They moved together, a pair of dancers alone on the stage. She stepped backwards, drawing him with her until he had her pressed against a marble pillar. Their kisses became more urgent and hurried. Molly forgot the pain of her shoulder, the ache of the past few weeks, and let go. He held her tightly, conscious of her injury, afraid of causing her more pain.

Across the hall, Apollo stared unseeing, casting his gaze upon the gardens beyond the windows, unconcerned with the mortals beneath him. Sunlight shone on Venus, casting white light across her body. She glowed above Molly and Jim, ethereal and radiant, the energy of the pair below her setting her alight. Molly thought she could have joined Venus, like Jim had said, carved in marble to be admired for centuries.

"I believe you," She whispered. Jim smiled as he kissed her. Molly reached for his chest and tugged at the buttons. With some difficulty, she managed to undo them one-handed. His chest, pale and well defined, heaved with breath. Molly giggled stupidly.

"Careful," Jim breathed, nodding at Venus, "she might be jealous."

"Let her," Molly put her hand on his skin tentatively. "I'd be more worried about Apollo if I were you."

* * *

><p>"I don't want to go."<p>

"You're going, whether you like it or not."

"Why should I?"

"Um," He drew out the sound and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Because I said so."

Molly frowned.

"I don't have anything nice to wear." She tugged at her sling self-consciously and frowned. "I didn't exactly get to prepare for something like this."

"I guess I'll just call the whole thing off then." He brushed past her and opened the door of the wardrobe dramatically. Molly drew in her breath sharply. The only garment in the wardrobe was a cocktail dress, hanging limply on a wire hanger. She saw Jim smile out of the corner of her eye, but she was too entranced by the intricate pictures on the fabric to pay him much attention. The fabric was deep royal blue, cut asymmetrically with a high neckline. A pattern of red, archaic patterns overlaid the background, lines and circles mingling with abstract figures.

"Did you buy this?"

"Westwood," He said, grinning. Molly gaped at him.

"Westwood." She nearly choked. "_Westwood_." She laughed and put her hand on her forehead. "I can't wear that."

"Why not?" He whined, pushing his lips out in a pout.

"How much was this? How much did you spend on this?" She reached for the fabric but jerked her hand back and tucked it under her sling.

"What does it matter?" His pout slipped into a smirk and his brow lowered. "You know you want to." Molly fumed and sputtered, but Jim dismissed her wordless protests with a wave of the hand. "You want help with your sling, sexy?" He winked and bared his teeth in his classic, blinding grin. Molly pursed her lips, but nodded, turning her back so he could undo the snaps of her sling. It slipped off and fell to the floor, revealing the stark white bandages wrapped around her slim shoulder.

"I don't have to wear it anymore, the doctor only said it was for a few days."

Jim said nothing. His hand glided over her shoulder. Breath whistled between his lips, almost silently.

"It doesn't hurt, really," she said quietly.

"Good," he cleared his throat. "That's good."

He turned away from her before she could catch his eye again and pulled the dress from the wardrobe. He held it out for her, and she took it without comment and slipped into the bathroom to put it on.

"Zip me up?"

He stared at her for several seconds before moving. He slid the zipper up her back and turned her to face him.

"Is my lipstick ok? Is it too dark? I could take it off-"

"Don't," he interrupted. "Its perfect." He stepped away from her and checked the time on his phone, then beamed at her. "Shall we?"


	10. Chapter 10

_"I'm a princess cut from marble,_

_Smoother than the storm._

_And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold._

_My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones,_

_It keeps my veins hot, the fires found a home in me."_

A wave of sweet smelling air blew Molly's hair away from her face through the open door. A snowflake danced around her eyelashes, fell on her cheek, and promptly melted. Jim's hand rested on the small of her back, guiding her over the marble floors and oriental carpets into the glowing ballroom, filled to the brim with glittering women, suited men, and the heavy aroma of new money. Peals of hollow, shrill laughter rang from the women, followed by deep chuckles and rehearsed compliments from their male counterparts. The whole room glowed; warm, golden light glinted off polished leather and wood, glasses full of brandy and whiskey. Curls of smoke reached towards the ceiling from the glowing tips of cigars perched between mustached lips.

Jim held her waist tightly and led her towards the back of the room. The crowd parted ahead of him, conversations going quiet, women taking sips of their martinis to mask their jealous glares. Molly blushed furiously. She pinned her eyes on the smooth fabric of Jim's coal-black suit.

"Don't be scared. These wolves don't bite much," he said, smirking.

"Wo bist du gewesen, Herr Brook?"

"It's so wonderful to see you back in Berlin, Mr. Brook."

All around them, partygoers called out to Jim, in German, English, and even French, begging for his attention, imploring him to tell them where he had been. He ignored them, smiling, absorbing their attention like a spoiled child. A woman in a low-cut, peach colored dress tugged on his sleeve and pushed out her blood-red lips in a seductive pout.

"Richard, dearest! Why didn't you tell me you were back in Berlin? I've been so lonesome without you." Her accent was heavy, eastern-European. She slipped in front of him, forcing him to stop and look at her. His eyes flashed with anger.

"Should I have, Antonija? " His eyes met Molly's and he winked. "Ms Hooper here has my full attention."

"Well, what's so special about her?" Antonija's eyes narrowed. "I think you need a real woman to entertain you, Richard."

"Don't overestimate yourself. I see you as a mannequin in a shop window." He squinted at her, his eyes flicking around her full cheeks and chest. "Looks like you're halfway there, anyway."

Her mouth fell open and gaped like a hungry fish. Jim flashed her a scathing glare, and wiggled his fingers at her.

"Cheers." She stalked away from them, muttering angrily in Serbian under her breath. Molly covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter. Jim squeezed her waist. "Fancy a dance?"

"I can't, Jim, I really can't dance-" She pulled away from him, straining her shoulder. With a lithe movement, he spun Molly onto the dance floor and took her hand in his. On a small stage in the corner of the room, the band pounded on violins, cellos along with a suited DJ scratching on records, producing a haunting, abstract, symphonic melody. Each note from the cello reverberated in Molly's chest. The lead singer shook her mane of raven hair and gripped the microphone stand, wrapping her olive fingers delicately around the polished metal. Her voice floated across the room, drawing awed stares from each dancing couple. Jim pulled her in closer. Each step was deft and graceful.

"I didn't know you could dance," Molly said.

"I'm full of surprises."

He turned her in slow, wide circles, weaving between the other couples. A woman caught Molly's eye and winked. She pointed at Jim's turned back and gave Molly a thumbs up. She smiled back and lost her balance on her tall heels. Her ankle buckled and she swayed to the side. In a swift move, Jim twisted and lunged forward, disguising her blunder as a sweeping, low dip. Her hair touched the floor. Jim bent over her and smiled.

"Jesus, Molly. You're a terrible dancer." He pulled her up and spun on his heel. Molly reeled and gripped his shoulder tightly to keep her balance. Someone next to them cried, "Bravo!", and started clapping enthusiastically. The song had ended. The whole room erupted into elated laughter and applause. The singers and band bowed dramatically. Everyone's eyes fixed on the stage, drinking in the splendor of the musicians and their own happy wealth.

Jim squeezed Molly, pulling her hips towards his. His lips greeted hers, grinning wickedly. Molly's whole body felt electric. Her cheeks burned, her heart beat madly, and her lips fell into the rhythm of Jim's. She bit his lip and reached up to drape her arm over his shoulder. They were alone in that moment. Not one eye in the room fell upon them. Molly had never felt anything like it, never been the sole object of any man's attention.

"What do you say we blow this party?" His breath came in short huffs. His eyes seemed darker, hungry. Molly nodded, unable to summon words to her lips. Jim swept her off her feet and carried her off the dance floor. The world seemed to move in slow motion. People moved for them without paying any attention. Molly spotted Antonija standing with several good-looking men, and smiled at her jealous, venomous glare. She rested her head on Jim's shoulder and closed her eyes, stroking his tie.

"I swear I'll set this place on fire if these people don't move faster." A crowd formed at the door, men slipping coats on slim-shouldered women, struggling to light cigarettes and pipes. "Out of the way, this woman needs a doctor!" Jim screamed, clinging Molly with dramatic urgency. Molly, eager to play her part, moaned loudly and dropped an arm limply over Jim's. A doorman pushed the crowd away and opened the door. When they reached the sidewalk, Molly slipped from his arms and laughed. She just laughed. Jim hailed a cab and pulled her inside.

"Hotel Adlon Kempinski. Jetzt gerade, schnell!"

"You speak German really well, _Richard._" She giggled.

"Oh shut up." He inched towards her, pinning her against the seat. "Just another part to play." His hands glided over her bare legs. "Easy peasy."

"I like your tie," She whispered, pulling the knot loose and throwing it on the floor.

"I love this dress." He slid his cold hands under the skirt and lingered on her hips. The cab came to a stop at the doors of the Adlon Kempinski, glowing with warm, orange light that reflected off the ice-crusted windows. Jim threw a handful of Euros at the driver and pulled Molly out through his door. She followed blindly, leaning forward, desperately trying to stay close to him. Her fingers grasped for his. He took her hand, guided to his lips, and kissed it, staring down into her glowing face.

* * *

><p>Every inch between them was a mile. His fingers tore at the thin fabric of her dress. Molly had barely shut the heavy hotel room door before he was tugging at her dress and she was pulling off his jacket., his eyes gleamed with manic desire. He almost tore the zipper from the back of the dress, tearing at it with deliberate, almost violent hands.<p>

"Careful, I don't want to ruin it." She reached back to help him, but he seized her hand and placed it roughly on his own chest.

"Priorities."

Molly nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed, and went to work on his shirt. It fell to the floor and crumpled. Molly stared at it and felt her arms go limp. Jim continued kissing her, running his lips over her shoulders and neck, pulling her dress down, slowly, until it rested at her feet.

"Molly?" She said nothing. He took her face in his hands and studied her. Molly took a long, shakey breath. She looked at his face for a moment; the black stubble on his jaw and upper lip, his sharp chin. She touched his lip lightly with the tip of her thumb. "Molly, what is it?"

"Its just, I've…" She paused for a moment, organizing her thoughts into a coherent sentence. "I feel like a child, Jim. I don't think anyone's ever been this way to me."

"Been what way?" His brow furrowed.

"The way you are. I can't handle how it feels, I'm afraid… I'm scared too-"

"Stop right there." He put his hand on her lips. "You'll always feel it, Molly. But you don't have to _fear it._"

She wrapped her arms around his neck. She drank in his dark eyes, waiting for something to shift, for a lie to surface. But it didn't. She stood on her toes and kissed him, harder than she had ever kissed anyone. He lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist, and carried her through the dark hotel room to the bed.

She fell back onto the sheets and inched backwards until her head fell back onto a pillow. Jim followed her, crawling over her like a predatory animal. Every dark desire and every fantasy that had made her blush suddenly came to life. Each wall she had built crumbled to dust. Her body ignited and burned for him. _This is it, _she thought. _I've passed the point of no return._


	11. Chapter 11

_"Help me make the most of freedom,_

_And of pleasure._

_Nothing ever lasts forever."_

Molly counted on her fingers all the places she found bruises. There was one on her shoulder, a black and purple cloud that had formed over her angry pink scar, and two more on her lower back. They were smaller and fainter, and seeing them in her reflection made her blush. Jim certainly had strong hands.

She had found her way back to a mirror, surveying each imperfection on her body and imagining herself prettier, thinner. Outside, the thick snow had begun to melt and thick, heavy raindrops dropped unceremoniously onto umbrellas and hoods. She could very clearly picture Sherlock's face if (when?) he found out what she had done; Betrayal, hurt, anger. He wouldn't scream at her. His face would say it all. _Whore. You've slept with a murderer._

"We sure heat the place up." Jim grinned behind her. He peeked out the window and smirked at the umbrellas bobbing below him. He buttoned the jacket of his fresh suit and leaned against the doorframe. Molly smiled in spite of herself and felt her heart jump a little. He jerked his head and she approached him, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "Would you mind sticking your hand in my pocket?" His eyes were almost black. The corners of his mouth twitched. Molly obeyed, resting her other hand on his hip. The warmth of his leg sent goose bumps up her arm. The tips of her fingers brushed against something small and smooth. She removed her hand and laughed; a piece of gum. He stuck out his tongue expectantly. Molly hesitated, broke it into two pieces, and placed one on Jim's tongue. She popped the other into her mouth and smiled.

"Thanks," He grinned slyly. "Breakfast?"

"Maybe after I put some clothes on."

"If you insist."

* * *

><p>Jim led her down narrow cobbled streets in the heart of the city, coffee in hand, to a bakery he claimed was the best in Europe. Molly's stomach grumbled angrily, but she said nothing. It took them longer to find it than Jim had anticipated; He hadn't been to Berlin in years, and refused to ask for directions. When they finally arrived, Molly's nose was pink from the cold, and her mood had been darkened by hunger. Jim pinched her nose and pushed her scarf up over her face.<p>

"Don't give me that look, I'm trying to feed you." She laughed quietly and peeked through the glass at the pastries and rolls. The heavy scent of the buttery dough made Molly's stomach growl again. She pointed to a pastry, decorated with pink frosting and small pieces of dried fruit. The baker declined payment and smiled.

"A treat for the lovely couple." Jim smirked, but accepted.

They found a bench to rest on while they ate, across from the World Clock in Alexanderplatz. Tourists bustled past them, their breath puffing out in small clouds. Jim distracted himself on his phone while Molly ate in silence. She watched the passersby, stared up at the top of the TV tower, and glanced at Jim out of the corner of her eye.

"Its all very ordinary, isn't it?" She said.

"What?" He glanced at her through his sunglasses and frowned.

"You got me breakfast. Now we are sitting together, where people can see us. Its very… normal."

"Isn't that what you want?" His phone went dim. Across the platz, a police officer strolled towards the clock, eyeing everyone suspiciously. Molly caught Jim glare at him from behind his dark lenses.

"I don't know, it's just…" She wiggled her fingers in her mittens. "I think, if I wanted normal, I would have just stuck with Tom."

Jim laughed loudly. He pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, drawing annoyed looks from nearby women.

"Thank god," he laughed. "Christ, Molly. I'm glad I don't have to go back to stupid 'Jim from IT'." He rolled his eyes and exaggerated a London accent.

"No, I don't want that."

"Good, because I-" He stopped. His eyes flicked to the police officer, talking to a woman, their heads tilted, both sets of eyes locked on Jim. The woman looked frightened and pointed at Jim, speaking quickly to the officer. He nodded and spoke a few words into his radio. His hand moved slowly to the gun on his belt.

"Jim," Molly said, glancing around. "What is it?" He took her arm and pulled her up.

"Keep talking to me."

"What's happened?"

"I don't know, but the coppers are giving me looks that I don't appreciate." He gripped her waist tightly. "Don't look. Stare at the ground." He flipped the collar of his coat up. A window in front of them reflected a flock of birds take flight from the ground, and the officer, slowly but surely, following them. After they had walked a block or two, Jim sent a short text. His back stiffened. His playful manner had been replaced with coldness and professionalism. Molly remained silent and stared at the cobblestones obediently. She peeked up for a split-second and saw the entrance to a subway station, glowing blue and white. A crowd of people was shuffling up the staircase, blinking at the drastic change in lighting. Jim looked over his shoulder. The officer stopped, caught off guard, and locked eyes with Jim. Molly's throat constricted with fear. The officer's eyes flicked to Molly, then to the subway, and back to Jim. His hand creeped slowly to his radio. In one quick movement, Jim had Molly's arm and was pulling her through the crowd towards the staircase. People bumped against her, almost separating them, but Jim's arm was cemented to her. At the last second he turned, weaving between businessmen and tourists, away from the subway, to the curb. Tires screeched, and a black car squealed to a stop in the middle of the road. The back door flew open, and Jim pushed Molly inside. He hesitated before getting in, watching the crowd. There were several angry shouts, and the officer pushed through several feet away. He saw Jim leaning against the car door and shouted angrily. Jim smiled, blew a kiss, and slipped into the car.

* * *

><p>"Sebastian, tell me what just happened, or I swear I will puncture your kidneys."<p>

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sebastian fumed, turning around from the passenger seat. He had replaced his normal, casual attire for a coal black suit and burgundy scarf. "I didn't realize that it was my job to keep you from pissing off every powerful woman in the whole damn city!"

"What are you talking about?" Jim's voice wavered slightly, low and throaty.

"You don't remember?" He pulled a wrinkled newspaper from his coat pocket and tossed it onto Jim's lap disdainfully. "Your dear friend, Ms Antonija Maupertuis, has accused Richard Brook of attempted murder."

Jim's face froze. His brow furrowed in confusion. He ran a hand over his face and forced himself to look at the large photograph on the front page of the newspaper; Antonija glared sullenly below the headline: "Serbian Heiress Attacked by Ex: '_He tried to kill me!_'" His fingers curled and shook slightly.

"What does this mean?" Molly looked at Sebastian. He laughed scornfully.

"This means that your alias," He glanced pointedly at Jim, who was glaring murderously at the photo, "is compromised. She's accused Richard Brook of trying to kill her. Thankfully there's no photo in the paper, but obviously the police know what you look like."

Jim's face was warped with furious confusion. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and slow, but shook with rage; "I want you to get us on the next flight out of this country. I want you to _contain this._" He crumpled the newspaper with one hand. "Do whatever you like to her, just make sure it is either humiliating or _really painful._"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps both?"

"Even better."

* * *

><p>The drive to the airport was silent. Jim hardly looked away from the streets, never diverting his attention or speaking. Sebastian fiddled with the radio and chatted to the driver in flawless German.<p>

"He's not going to hurt her is he?" Molly leaned forward to catch Jim's eye. "Jim?"

"Hm."

"Is Sebastian going to hurt her?" Sebastian's eyes flicked to Jim, who pinched the bridge of his nose and scoffed. "Jim, answer me. Is Sebastian going to hurt her?"

He threw his hands up and laughed.

"Of course! What do you expect, Molly? D'you want me to just politely ask her take it all back? Would that make you feel better?" His voice rose, his Irish accent becoming more pronounced. "This isn't some American, high school drama. This could destroy every thing I have done, everything I have built around RICHARD BROOK. As if I didn't have enough problems with Sherlock sniffing around, thinking he's got my network all taken care of!"

Molly slumped back against her seat. "Oh."

He stared at her, then his eyes closed. He rubbed his forehead.

"Molly, I'm sorry, I-"

"Oh, no, I understand," She said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You just have to kill this woman, because you probably had sex with her once, and now she's really jealous! I get it!" She heard Sebastian stifle a laugh. Jim glared at him and rolled his eyes. "So I guess I'll just shut up about it then! You two just do what you do, organizing crimes, hurting people, you know, the usual!"

"Christ Molly." Jim grimaced and rubbed his temples.

"Ok," said Sebastian, grinning, "If you two are done with your little domestic, I do have something to tell you before you ditch the country." He held his phone out, displaying a photograph of a man, lying spread-eagle on the ground in a pool of blood. "We got your shooter. Lucky for you, I haven't been partying this whole trip."

Jim's jaw muscles relaxed slightly, but he said nothing.

"Is that…" Molly swallowed, "Is that the man that shot me?"

"Yeah," Sebastian replied casually. "He was caught trying to get on a flight to Ukraine. But don't worry, he's not a problem anymore."

"Of course. I won't worry," Molly said. Her shoulder ached. She touched it impulsively. "No. Right."

The car came to a stop. The door opened and Sebastian and Jim herded Molly onto the sidewalk in front of the airport.

"Wait!" She cried, pulling back. "Toby! He's still at the hotel!" Someone tapped her shoulder, and she turned. Sebastian shoved a small travel kennel into her arms. Toby pushed his paws against the bars and meowed angrily. "Thank you so much," She said, but Sebastian waved her off and pushed her through the revolving doors.

"Don't thank me. I hate your cat."

* * *

><p>Molly spoke little on the flight. Her thoughts were scattered and fragmented, flashing from images of the dead shooter, to Antonija on the front page, and then to Jim's face, angry and dangerous. She felt slightly relieved that her shooter was no longer a threat, but she could not help feeling somewhat responsible for his death, and even worse for Antonija. She could only imagine what Sebastian would do to her. Molly was certainly afraid. She didn't feel like herself, like the normal Molly that got her work done and spent most of her time alone. She felt like someone different. She felt <em>free.<em> _But I'm not,_ she thought_, I couldn't leave him if I wanted to. He wouldn't let me._ She could hear Jim's haughty reply in the back of her mind; _you don't want to, you wouldn't dare._

"Sebastian's not coming with us?"

"No," said Jim. "He's doing damage control." He scrolled down the screen on his phone, reading and sending texts. Molly frowned. _Damage control. _

"Who was Antonija?"

Jim looked up. He tapped his fingers on his thigh. It was a few moments before he answered. "She was a distraction."

"From what?"

"Do we really need to talk about this?" He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

"If you want me to stick around, yes." It was a bluff, and she knew Jim could tell. But, with a groan of impatience, he tossed his phone on the seat next to him and faced her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"She was… a convenient connection. I needed contacts in Serbia, and she was more than eager to…help." He shrugged, suppressing an amused smile. "What can I say, I'm quite the catch."

"So, she is the powerful Serbian with a vendetta against you." Molly felt numb. "And you're going to have her killed."

"Really its her daddy that's powerful. But they would do worse to me. She'd have me sent back to Belgrade to be imprisoned for the rest of my life." He shrugged again. "Any more questions?"

"You didn't have…feelings?"

"None whatsoever," He drew an x over his heart. "Cross my heart, hope to die. It wasn't much fun, Serbia's boring."

"Of course it is." She ran a hand through her hair and folded her arms. "Is that what _I _am? A distraction?"

"No," He sounded like a guilty child. He reached for her arm but she moved away from him.

"That's what Sherlock was, wasn't he? A distraction, a part of your game? I can't just be a toy for you, something to distract you from the rest of the world."

"You are not a distraction. You are…" He considered her for a moment, eyes narrowed. "You're a goddess. I should've worshipped you sooner."

Molly smiled slightly and cast her eyes downward.

_You're lying._


	12. Chapter 12

_"So it's gonna be forever,_

_Or it's gonna go down in flames._

_You can tell me when it's over,_

_If the high was worth the pain."_

_'Serbian Heiress A. Maupertuis Dies in Car Accident, Berlin Authorities Puzzled.'_

"Car accident, that's new."  
>"I try to mix things up every now and then."<p>

"How did you pull that off?"

"Called in a favor from a German crime syndicate."

"Lovely." Molly pursed her lips, holding back her anger and disgust. Discussing a hit over tea like the daily weather. The rest of the world would see it as an accident, but Molly's view would always be tainted.

"Don't be cross. Have a biscuit."

"I can't believe you."

"I'm sorry, a cake then?" Jim dipped his biscuit in his tea and popped it into his mouth. He glanced at her, but returned his attention to his tea hastily. Molly's face seemed to be permanently set in a disappointed frown. She had thought better of him. _Foolish. _Jim approached this more casually than Molly was comfortable with.

Their hotel room in Paris was smaller than the suite in Berlin, but Molly liked it better. It was an older hotel in a part of the city the tourists rarely found, but well known amongst the wealthy and elite. The walls were a dusty rose hidden behind large paintings of sunsets and the sea. Molly loved the fluffy cushions on the chairs, and seeing Toby napping there almost made her smile. But her mood was too dark for a real smile.

With a sigh, Jim rose from the table and fetched his gloves and coat from the table near the door. He hummed quietly to himself, a bouncy beat that Molly couldn't quite place. Molly followed him like a shadow. She hugged herself and watched him slip on his coat. He hadn't shaved since they had left London, so his moustache and sideburns were longer than usual. He tugged a black leather glove over his left hand, then tilted his head at Molly.

"Be in a better mood when I get back. You're prettier when you smile."

"Don't get _distracted _by any French girls," She snapped. Jim's hand flew at her face, striking her hard across the cheek. Molly's head flew to the side. She swung at him blindly but he caught her wrist.

"Good try though. Oh, that'll bruise, eh?" He sneered and shoved her hard. She toppled backwards to the floor. Her shoulder ignited with pain, bringing hot tears to her eyes. "Oh, poor dear. Don't wait up for me, I haven't been to Paris in _ages._ I'm just getting started!" Molly scrambled to her feet, but Jim slipped through the door and slammed it shut. The lock clicked, and Molly heard him laugh as he sauntered down the hall.

"I hate you!" She screamed. She pounded the door with her fists. She screamed until her throat was raw. Something inside her snapped. The fibers holding her self control and rational thinking together tore.

_It's his fault. It's your fault. Why do you always pick people who hurt you, Molly? He doesn't actually care about you, you know. He's using you. Just like Sherlock. He lied, he lied, he lied. Did you really think he wanted anything from you besides your body? I'm so stupid._

She hit her head against the door until tiny pinpricks of light popped into her vision. Her thoughts built up like bricks, encircling her mind in a thick, impenetrable wall.

_Miss me?_

_ There's my Molly._

_ Mine, all mine._

"Stupid!" She screamed. She rolled back onto the floor and curled into a ball. Jim Moriarty was not _in love_ with her. Had she really thought that? Was he even capable of that? "I hate you!" She sobbed into the carpet.

_I'm saving you for something special._

He had never said it, never said anything to lead her to believe he felt something more for her.

_I'm just his toy,_ she thought. _His plaything. A distraction._ She tasted bile on her tongue. She hated that word.

But what about Antonija? Jim had spurned her, and he had never returned to her. Not only had Jim actually _dated_ Molly, he had come back to her, smuggled her out of the country to protect her. If Sherlock and Antonija had been distractions, what _was _Molly? No, not love, a possession. Jim didn't fully understand her. _He thinks he does,_ Molly thought. _But he doesn't._ That was it, her advantage. It was the first time she had felt ahead of Jim since they had met. He didn't understand her, underestimated her, and that would be his undoing. Molly was sure of it.

She staggered from the floor and into the kitchen, pulling her hair into a messy bun. As far as hotel kitchens went, it was very well stocked, including a variety of long, freshly sharpened knives. She chose carefully, thinking back to the scalpels and blades back in her lab, used for cutting into corpses; sawing through bone and slicing flesh. _It has to be done. Think of all the people he's killed._ The cold metal bit into her hand, but she didn't notice it. Her pulse beat against her skin and her entire body felt numb. She rummaged through the other cupboards and found a half-empty bottle of cognac. She took a long drink from the bottle and grimaced as it scorched her mouth and throat. She coughed and spluttered, collected herself, and went back to the living room. She sat on the floor, facing the door, her back pressed against the wall. The bottle of cognac rested next to her. She closed her eyes and waited, counting each of her heartbeats. _1 2…3 4…5 6… 7 8…_

* * *

><p>Somewhere in the 300's, and after another quarter of the cognac was gone, Molly lost count. The knife slipped from her fingers and lay on the carpet near her feet. Hours could have passed. Days.<p>

_Where is he?_

There was a soft knock on the door, jolting Molly back to reality. She blinked a few times, pulling herself through the alcoholic fog. Muffled words passed through the door, a man's voice, but she couldn't here them. She stood shakily, picking up the knife and holding it tightly. He knocked again, harder this time. Molly's breath was loud and shaky. She turned the lock above the doorknob, relishing the quiet click. _Thought I wouldn't notice, Jim? _ She gripped the doorknob, counted to three, and wrenched the door open.

His face was in shadow. The dim lamp in the hallway threw his silhouette into sharp relief. He took a step towards her, sighing with relief. Everything in Molly's mind went still. Her arm extended towards his lower torso and plunged the long blade into soft flesh. She pushed until her hand brushed against the fabric of his shirt. He shouted in pain.

"Se il vous plaît! Où est Amélie?" He fell to his knees, wrenching the knife from Molly's hand.

"Amélie?" Her blood went cold. She reached for the light switch. The harsh glow hurt her eyes. On the floor, clutching the knife in his stomach, was a man. Not Jim. A stranger. His handsome face contorted with agony and despair. He moaned and muttered, "Amélie…Amélie…"

_No. This can't have happened._

"Who're you?" Molly's words slurred together. She staggered around him, staring at him with confusion and horror.

"Hugo," He moaned. "Please, where is Amélie?"

"She's not here." Molly felt stupid, slow. Hugo bit his lip. He removed one hand and stared at his blood, thick and dark, smeared across his skin. With his free hand, he pulled the knife from his body and screamed.

"No, don't!" Molly jerked forward and reached for him. Removing the knife would let more blood out, kill him faster.

"Non!" He shouted. He attempted to move away from her, but blood gushed from his wound. He fell onto his back, still holding the knife. Molly leaned over him. Her hair, loose from her bun, fell over her face. She placed a hand delicately over the wound. Blood seeped through her fingers. He breathed heavily.

"Amélie, se il vous plait," He whispered. Molly started to panic. Her mind moved slowly and her fingers fumbled with his shirt in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"No, please," She cried, fighting back tears. She had to stop the bleeding. "Please, please, PLEASE!" Hugo coughed and another gush of blood spurted out, overwhelming Molly's sad attempt at a bandage. She screamed in terror and frustration. "I'm sorry." She started to sob. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Call an ambulance!" He shouted.

"I can't." Molly covered her face with her hands. If she called for an ambulance, they would know it was her fault. She would be arrested, thrown in jail. "I really can't."

"Coward," He spat. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Molly pushed herself away from him, leaning against the wall. She pulled her legs up and rested her head on her knees. He was right. _I am a coward._ She shook violently, racked with sobs. She cried loudly, screaming and running her bloodstained hands through her hair.

_I'm just like him, _she thought. _I've killed, and now I'm just like him._ Hugo's breathing slowed. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling. He blinked away tears and sighed.

"Amélie, je te aime. Je te aime. Je suis désolé." He shuddered, then fell silent. His face went still, his eyes blank and unseeing.

"No," Molly scrambled to his side. She cupped his face in her hands, smearing his blood across his jaw. "No, no. Please! I'm so sorry!" She put a finger to his throat. No pulse. "NO!" She wailed. Her throat burned. Her vision blurred. She held him tightly to her, cradling him like a porcelain doll. She rocked back and forth, wailing like a child. Her tears mingled with the blood and smeared down her face, creating a horrific, horror movie scene.

"_I'm so sorry_."

* * *

><p>Jim saw the open door from the end of the hall, and immediately sensed that something was wrong. Screams reverberated off the walls. <em>Molly.<em> He broke into a sprint and barreled towards her, stringing angry words together in his mind. He tore through the doorway and stopped dead at the sight before him, his words dying before they could reach his lips.

Molly was clutching a body, blood smeared across her face. She sobbed loudly, screaming that she was sorry. She rocked back and forth. Each scream hit Jim like a blow to the chest.

"Molly."

She looked at him, guilt written across her face.

"I'm sorry Jim." An empty liquor bottle lay beside her, forgotten. She averted her eyes, glancing at a bloody kitchen knife near the dead man's hand. Jim's jaw dropped. Molly screamed again, hunching over the lifeless corpse. Jim had to act fast. He shouted into his phone, trying to drown out Molly's screams as he gave instructions to Sebastian.

"Just get me a car and get here NOW!" He hung up and threw his phone to the floor. He tugged off his gloves, threw them to the side, and walked slowly towards Molly. She saw him approaching and panicked. She released her hold on the body and tried to stand, but Jim caught her arms and pushed her back down.

"Leave me alone!" She shrieked. He clapped a hand over her mouth. She resisted weakly, then gave up and sobbed quietly.

"Molly, stop." He leaned forward, using his weight to pin her against the wall with his free arm. "_What happened_?" He removed his hand. Molly opened her eyes, took a shaky breath, and released a deafening, horrified scream. Jim silenced her again. He pulled her to her feet. She gripped his arm tightly, unable to stand by herself.

_Molly, what have you done?_

He half-carried her down the fire escape, keeping his hand over her mouth. He glanced over the railings and saw Sebastian, leaning against a quietly humming car, cigarette glowing in the dark.

"Take her!"

He passed Molly down the metal ladder to Sebastian's waiting arms. She submitted limply, clinging to Sebastian's shirt like a frightened child. Jim slid down the ladder and pulled Molly from Sebastian, nearly jerking her to the pavement. She caught herself and looked into Jim's eyes. He stared back, and saw only fear and devastation. She twisted, trying to free herself from his grip. Jim nodded to Sebastian, who handed him a filled syringe. She watched it change hands and backed away hastily. She bumped into the car behind her, cornered.

"No," She said. "Please don't." She held her hand out to Jim, her eyes pleading. Jim stopped and considered her for a moment.

"I'm sorry." His face hardened. Sebastian lunged forward, twisting her outstretched arm and pressing her against the passenger door of the car. She cried out in shock and anger, writhing in pain. Jim sighed. This wasn't what he had wanted. Things had gone so wrong. He brushed her hair away from her neck. The needle sank into the pale skin and sent the liquid into her bloodstream. Her muscles went stiff, then relaxed as she slipped away.

"Bad girl," He said. "Very bad girl."


	13. Chapter 13

_"This is the start of how it all ends,_

_They used to shout my name, now they whisper it."_

Blood had never scared Molly. Needles, cuts, bruises, anything to do with the body was fine with her. It was all natural. But it was different now.

There was a bruise forming around the tiny hole from the needle Jim had jammed into her neck. It hurt to move, so Molly kept her eyes closed and stayed still. In her head, she counted each time Jim changed the radio. Since she had woken up in the backseat of the car, he had flipped the channel almost 40 times. Still in an alcohol and sedative induced haze, she found it rather amusing. Finally, with a snarl of frustration, he left it on a slow, haunting melody;

_Poor old Jim's white as a ghost_

_He's found the answer that was lost_

_We're all weeping now, weeping because_

_There ain't nothing we can do to protect you…_

"I know you're awake." He gripped the steering wheel with both hands, squeezing until the blood was forced from his fingers. Molly kept her eyes shut. _Just pretend you're asleep and he'll go away._

"Where are we?"

"Just past Maidstone."

"What?"

"Kent."

Molly pushed herself up until she could see out the window. Rolling hills dotted with leafless trees passed in a blur. The sky was grey, but patches of sunlight made it through, illuminating the landscape with shafts of afternoon sun.

"We'll be in London in about an hour," Jim said quietly. He glanced back at her briefly. She stared out the window and said nothing. She let herself drop back onto the seat, her back to Jim, and forced her eyes closed. The afterimages of the light remained behind her eyelids. She liked it; it distracted her from everything else.

* * *

><p>How long had it been since she'd been at home? It felt like years. Jim unlocked her front door and lead her into her flat, supporting her like an old woman. He threw the keys and bags onto the floor and pushed Molly towards her room.<p>

_Just make yourself at home,_ Molly thought. He gave her a light prodding, and she glided through the door. She slipped off her shoes and socks and let her toes sink into the carpet. Jim watched her, silent, then shut the door behind him. His voice floated through the door, tired, frustrated, but controlled. She closed her eyes and tuned him out.

When she opened them again, she saw Toby's bed on the floor. She felt a pang of hopeless grief. _I left Toby. He's alone._ She picked up the cushion and hugged it tightly. Tiny hairs clung to her cardigan and hands. He hadn't deserved that. He was innocent. She felt no tears, only a cavernous emptiness where her heart should have been. Still clinging to the musty cushion, Molly pressed her ear against her door and held her breath, straining to hear Jim's soft voice in the kitchen.

"…just clean up the mess and get back to London. I'm not sure how much longer I can wait."

Silence.

"No. She's a bit… off. I've made some tea that'll knock her out for a few more hours until you get here." He sighed. She imagined him rubbing his chin and pushing back his dark hair from his forehead. "This is done. I'm going to leave, and you'll… _take care_ of her. This can't go on anymore. For the best, I think." His phone clattered onto the counter, and a spoon clinked against a mug as he stirred something into her tea. Molly jumped to the bed and buried her face in the pillow, seconds before the door opened again.

"Cuppa tea, dear?" His voice was high and rang with forced cheeriness. She turned her head and nodded. She sat up and crossed her legs, Toby's bed in her lap.

"Thank you." Jim said nothing. She took a small sip of the tea and smiled weakly. His eyes flickered.

"I'm going to fix this. Leave it to me." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Alright."

His eyes rested on her mug for a moment. Molly raised the mug to her lips and tipped it back, slowly filling her mouth. With a vaguely satisfied smile, he slipped from the room, closing the door behind him.

Molly nearly choked. She ran to the window and leaned out, spitting the sickeningly sweet tea into the plants below. She gasped for breath, resting her weight on the windowsill, still open after her ill-fated house arrest. The voice in the back of her head snorted at her._ I told you this would happen. You knew it would never last._ Molly bit her lip to keep herself from screaming. _You know what you have to do._ She knew. She wrenched herself away from the window. Her shoulder barely ached now, but stiffened at the effort. She glanced at the mug of tea and hesitated. It cooled, abandoned on her bedside table as she slipped her socks and shoes back on. Finally, she pressed her ear against the door again, waiting until she heard Jim sigh on the other side. Molly braced herself, and slipped silently out the window onto the street, closing it behind her.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, it's Molly. She's turned up, and she's… Well, I could really use your help right now." Lestrade waited for Sherlock's response, but got none. The line went dead after a moment. He knew Sherlock would be there within minutes.<p>

Molly Hooper had been sent into a vacant interrogation room to wait. Lestrade watched her from behind the one-sided mirror. A cold cup of coffee sat untouched in front of her, and she clung tightly to a garish orange blanket someone had draped over her. She stared blankly ahead, her face a perfect mask, betraying no emotion besides injured detachment.

Molly could feel his eyes, but kept her face straight and controlled. The smell of the coffee in front of her made her feel sick. The door opened and DI Lestrade leaned in.

"Sherlock's here-" He barely finished before Molly jumped from the table and pushed past him. Beyond the door, Sherlock stood rigidly, his hands at his sides flexing into tight fists. He was attempting to control his expression, but Molly saw fear, and incredible anger. She ran to him, throwing her arms around his chest and burying her face in his scarf.

"Molly…" He said uneasily. His arms wrapped around her. She could feel his discomfort, but ignored it. Lestrade cleared his throat.

"She's just escaped."

"Escaped?"

"Moriarty had her. For weeks, the whole time she wasn't at work. He arranged the whole thing." Sherlock's muscles tensed. Molly smiled into his coat and let out a quiet sob. Sherlock gripped her shoulders and pushed her back. His eyes scanned her whole body, and rested on the purple bruise on her cheek. He swallowed and his lip curled with fury.

"Did he…" Molly nodded. She bit her lip and covered her face with her hands.

"I was so scared, I didn't know what to do. He said that if I tried to leave, he would kill you, John, Greg…" She trailed off, wiping her tears with her sleeve. Lestrade put a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, pulling her most grateful smile, and looked back at Sherlock. He was staring at her, his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lestrade's phone beeped loudly, cutting him off. He frowned, and then nodded to Sherlock.

"Molly, why don't we go back in here to talk?" He moved to block her view of the hallway and gestured towards the interrogation room.

"What's going on?" She let go of Sherlock and peered around Lestrade. A parade of armed gaurds was making their way down the hall.

"Nothing, it's just-" Molly ignored him and walked closer to the door. Walking down the hall, hands cuffed together and flanked by stern-faced officers, was Jim. He betrayed no emotions and allowed them to lead him without protest. Then he saw her. There was a spilt-second of confusion, then recognition.

He instantly wrenched himself from the gaurds' grasp and threw himself forward, snarling with rage. Molly jumped backwards, colliding with Sherlock. She gripped his arm.

"Good move, Molly!" He shouted. "I did not expect this!" An officer grabbed his arm and wrenched him backwards. Molly trembled with fear. She inhaled deeply and glared at him.

"Get him out of here, NOW!" Lestrade stepped in front of her again, shielding her from Jim's view and shouting angrily at the officers.

"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" Jim laughed. "Not an angel anymore, are you?"

"You're mad," Molly spat. Her armor slipped. "I hate you!" She sounded like a child. Jim laughed again and shot seething looks at Lestrade and Sherlock.

"She's got you, hasn't she? Ha!" He looked back at Molly. "No, you will never _really_ get away from me." He annunciated each word, throwing them at Molly like knives. "You'll always see me, hear me, _feel _me. I'm always there, _inside you,_" He sang. Lestrade shouted again and Sherlock tugged on her arm. The whole world went silent. Everything around her became blurred, but Jim stood before her, focused, smiling. "You'll never be able to go back to the old Molly. Because as much as you want to play the victim, you _liked it._" He began to back away, giving in to the force of the officers. Molly felt the blood drain from her face. Jim smirked.

"Got ya."

Molly acted without thinking. She spun around and stood on her toes. Sherlock frowned, caught off guard. She grabbed his neck and pulled her face up to his until their lips met. Jim screamed, drowning out Lestrade's shouted orders. Molly had never heard him sound so tortured, and she had never enjoyed hurting someone so much. _Prepared to do anything, just like you._ Sherlock hesitated, but his lips softened and his hands glided to her waist. Jim's screams faded as he was dragged away, until the room became silent once again. When Molly pulled away, Sherlock grabbed her wrist tightly.

"Wait," He whispered. Lestrade, completely oblivious to everything apart from the commotion in front of him, directed his attention back to Molly. He grimaced, his eyes drooping with exhaustion.

"Why don't you go home, Molly. Get some rest. This is going to be a long process." Molly nodded. Lestrade nodded to Sherlock again, and shuffled out of the room. She felt her throat tighten. _Sherlock. He knows._

"You may have convinced Lestrade, but I see through your victim's façade, Molly." He glared at her venomously.

"You have no idea." She met his gaze. Blood returned to her face and burned through her flesh. "You have no idea what I went through."

"Oh, I know more than you think," He continued menacingly. "Looks like Moriarty had another weakness after all. You have blood on your hands."

Molly froze. She clenched her fists.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do," He sneered. "You won't make it in court. No judge worth his salt would let you get away unscathed, no matter what you claim Moriarty did to you. What would you tell them? That it was self defense? That you tried to run?"

"You don't know what he did to me!" She shouted, "He ruined everything! He made me like him! I will _never be the same,_ because of him. Because of _you_!"

Her words hung in the air like a cloud of smoke. Sherlock's shoulders slumped.

"Molly…"

"Don't bother." She covered her mouth with her hand and took a step towards the door, shaking her shoulders, imitating sobs. "I can't do anything about Jim, and he's going to kill me." Suddenly, Molly felt her stomach churn. She doubled over and stumbled into the bathroom across the hall. She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and vomited. Sherlock followed close behind her and pulled back her hair.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She stood and moved to the sink. In the mirror, her face was ravaged by exhaustion. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks had lost some of their old glow. _Did I eat something bad? _ "I just want to go home."

"No. His network will find you there. You'll be dead by tomorrow."

_How many days has it been?_

"What am I supposed to do then?"

"Disappear. Get out of London. Mycroft can get you into some sort of witness protection program."

She counted the days in her head. _Two weeks since Berlin, maybe three. When did I last eat?_ A chill ran down her spine. Her head pounded._ I missed it. No, it can't be._

"I'll take you somewhere safe. Mycroft can hold Moriarty for a time, but there's only so much he can do. He has leverage over you now…"

"Sherlock," Molly began to panic.

"You'll have to quit your job for good this time, go completely underground-"

"_Sherlock."_

"This is for everything you did for me, Molly. I will never be able to repay you-"

"Sherlock!" He stopped mid-sentence and gaped at her. She felt nauseas and dizzy. "Take me to the hospital. I need a blood test."

_I'm always there, inside you._

"What?"

"I think I'm pregnant." She placed her hands on her stomach. Sherlock's mouth fell open. "You're right. I need to disappear. I can never see you again. This is the end."


	14. Epilogue

_"I wanna cry and I wanna love,_

_But all my tears have been used up."_

* * *

><p><em>5 years later, Classified Location<em>

Rosemary Evans knelt to the floor and picked up a discarded pair of socks and tossed them into the laundry basket resting on her hip. She carried it to the small laundry room behind the kitchen and dropped it to the floor, telling herself she'd tend to it later. Outside, a small child ran to and fro across the garden, pausing to admire flowers she came across, splashing mud up her tiny rubber boots. Molly watched her for a moment and smiled. The girl bent down next to a bright red poppy, plucked it, and ran towards the house.

Rose pulled a pink birthday cake from the cupboard as the girl pushed through the door, brandishing her treasure.

"Mum, a poppy," She cried, tugging on Rose's shirt. "Just like me!"

"Just like you," Molly laughed, lifting the girl and tapping her pink nose. "Just like my Poppy."

"Is that my cake?" She eyed the pink frosting greedily. Her soft voice lifted with a delicate Scottish accent. She often echoed her mother's native English accent, but adopted the speech patterns of the children from her school.

"It is!" Poppy wriggled back to the floor. "After dinner," Rose said, pushing the cake out of Poppy's reach.

"Promise?" Poppy folded her arms and frowned, her nose crinkling. Her dark brown eyes flashed.

"Promise," Rose put her hand over her heart solemnly. "Put your coat on, you'll freeze out there!" Poppy smiled and ran back outside, ignoring her mother's instruction. Rose found the discarded flower and put in a cup, filled with water, and placed it on the windowsill. Poppy had resumed her adventure outside, climbing over the boulders past the back garden gate. _Has it really been five years?_ She thought, brushing back a loose lock of her dark hair. Poppy was a blessing, the last good thing left in Rose's world. Five years since her father…

She shook her head. No need to think about that. Poppy was all that mattered. _She has his eyes. Why does she have to look so much like him?_ Poppy's eyes were round and warm, but darkened when she was angry or upset. So much like him. Rose inhaled sharply and rubbed her temples with her thumbs. She was almost to the back door, eager to join in Poppy's fun, when the phone rang. _Could be Holly, I haven't rang her in a while._

"Hello?"

"Is this Rosemary Evans?" A gruff, distinctly male voice.

"It is. Who's speaking?" She wrapped her free arm around her waist and glanced out the window at Poppy again.

"Just an old friend," he laughed. "Never thought I'd find you, Molly Hooper. I've been looking for you. Jim sends his love. To you… _and Poppy_."

The phone slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.

_Sebastian. They've found me._

**_To Be Continued…_**


End file.
